


Ad Astra Sequi

by sarashelly



Category: Miss Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/F, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Post-Season/Series 01, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-05-30 08:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarashelly/pseuds/sarashelly
Summary: When Wato, not knowing Sherlock is alive, returns to her family, Sherlock quietly follows to make sure she gets home safely. But as soon as she arrives Sherlock notices suspicious people hanging around Wato. She feels compelled to stay and investigate the intents of those people.Soon it becomes evident that Sherlock is not the only one doing covert investigations.





	1. How to say goodbye - I

Soft breeze brushed against Wato’s cheeks as she stood on the rooftop with a single red rose in her hand. She hugged the Hermes coat close to her chest. She did not want to let go of anything that could connect her to Sherlock. _But then_ , she thought, _if I hold on to you this tightly, will you be able to move on?_

 _Move on to where_ , Sherlock would have said. _There is nothing to move on to from death._

But the idea was too awful. She had to still be somewhere out there, in some way.

_I need you here. But I can’t keep you here._

Her face felt hot and puffy from crying too much. She had tried not to cry, so people would have stopped treating her like she needed to be kept wrapped up in cotton. It had not worked. No one had told her anything. Everyone was shielding her. Everyone said she needed to focus on her own recovery. Her family had called and told her to return home.

The idea of returning to her family felt strange and alien, like a call to a place she did not feel had anything to do with her anymore. At the same time she did not know where else to go. Although Mrs. Hatano has asked her to stay at 221b, the thought of it was too much. The rooms of the house screamed emptiness.

Wato did not know what her family had been told about what had happened. Certainly it was not the whole story. That was a relief, in part, like somehow she could ignore the reality of all that had happened if she was surrounded by people who did not know. And yet, on the other hand, she felt so alone. Who would understand? Who would she be able to tell the things she wanted to say? _She was like a wildfire. She made me alive. She was the first time I…_

It felt wrong to put it in words, when Sherlock was not there to hear them. The words that should have been told her directly.

She set the rose down at her feet.

_This is how I tell you, now._


	2. How to say goodbye - II

“Sapporo?!”

Sherlock moved the phone away from her ear to stop her brother from breaking her eardrums.

“You didn’t… _why_?” Kento asked.

“I’m just checking she gets home safely,” Sherlock said. “I’ll come back as soon as… well, as soon as it’s possible to return from this damn place. Can you get me on a flight tonight?”

“No,” Kento said. “Since you foolishly suffered the long train trip there, just suffer it coming back, too. And after that, you’re grounded.”

“Funny.” Sherlock watched Wato haul her suitcase down from the train to the platform. “I’ll call you back later.”

Wato dragged her suitcase over to a row of benches and sat down. She took out her phone and made a call, looking around the station seeming to search for someone. Although Sherlock was certain her disguise was quite good, she retreated to the shade of a pillar. Wato finished her call. Still holding the phone, she rested her hands on her lap. Sherlock leaned her head against the pillar. Wato looked small and tired. Not at all like the Wato that stomped through 221b and filled up the whole room despite her small stature. Not at all like the Wato that gently and quietly spoke words made the world turn. _And whose fault was that?_

_Wato._

Sherlock itched to call out the name. What was it about this name? After she had said it once, it wanted to be said, over and over. _You’re losing it, Sherlock. Get a grip._

Wato got up from the bench and greeted a man who walked up to her. She smiled, but the smile was shallow and lifeless. The man took her suitcase and lead Wato towards the exit. Sherlock watched them go. She had done what she had planned to do. She should leave now. Find the next train to Tokyo. She didn’t want to go.

Her eyes fell on a young man who had been loitering near by. She had noticed him before, fiddling with his phone, looking like he was waiting for someone. Now, he was typing a message while keeping his eyes on Wato. He pushed his phone to his pocket and walked after Wato and the man who had come to get her.

Sherlock frowned. Was she imagining it? Perhaps it was just a coincidence. The station was full of people coming and going, after all. She glanced at the trains, and then at the three people walking towards the exit. No, she couldn’t just ignore this. She turned her back to trains and walked after the young man.


	3. The meaning of home - I

The car drew to a halt in front of the Tachibana residence. For a moment Wato just sat still looking at the front gate of her childhood home. How many times had she pushed that gate open, and rushed up the stairs? It all seemed like a lifetime ago.

Sherlock had once said something about how human cells were always renewing and so, only part of your body now was the same as your body a few years ago. The thought that she was returning home with a different body felt fitting. Her heart was not the same heart anymore, either. Everything about the house looked familiar, and yet everything felt strange, detached.

“Did you do what I asked?” Wato said, turning to Takuya, her cousin. He nodded.

“It’s all been arranged. I will come pick you up in the evening.”

Wato nodded and turned to look at the gate again.

“Your mother is going to throw a fit,” Takuya said.

“She will get over it,” Wato said. “I’ll just leave my bags in the car then. See you after the dust has settled.”

She bid her cousin goodbye and stepped out of the car. Tentatively she pushed the gate open. The gate creaked, evidently her father had not gotten around oiling the hinges in a while, which probably meant he had been very preoccupied with the hospital as of late, which probably meant her mother was already on the edge. She sighed. Regardless, there was nothing she could do about that now. She had made up her mind and she was going to follow through with her plans.

Wato stepped through the gate and glanced at the windows. She saw a curtain twitch. She could guess her mother was anxiously pacing in the kitchen, while her father insisted she allow her to come in at her own pace. She closed the gate behind her, for a moment gripping tightly at the metal bar as if trying to draw strength from it. She walked up the stairs, and stopped behind the door. She summoned up something resembling a smile and opened the door.

“I’m ho— ah, mom!”

“Was the trip tough? Have you eaten? Let me take a look at you.” Her mother gripped her shoulders.

“Will you let me come inside, please?” Wato asked, trapped between the doorway and her mother.

“What have they done to you? You look half dead!” her mother said, cradling her face in her hands.

Wato finally managed to get both of her feet inside and closed the door behind her.

“Where is your luggage? Is it out on the street? Honey, please go—”

Wato took her mother’s hands into hers.

“Mom, I’m hungry.”

“Come in then, don’t just stand there. I made all your favorites!”

“Of course you did.”

Wato’s mother hurried into the kitchen.

“Honey, the luggage!”

Wato’s father emerged from the living room and drew his daughter into a hug.

“Takuya already told me,” he said quietly. Wato nodded. She had expected as much.

***

“What do you mean, you are not staying here?”

Wato had waited until they had finished dinner to explain to her mother why her luggage did not arrive together with her. Now her mother was frozen in the middle of handing her a plate of cut apples. Wato took the plate from her hands.

“Takuya helped me rent a small apartment near the hospital. It will be easier that way. Since I have to work shifts anyway, it makes sense to cut the travelling time.”

Her mother turned to her father for support.

“Honey, say something.”

“She’s not a child anymore.”

“Of course I know she’s not a child,” her mother said, crossing her arms. “If she was a child I wouldn’t have let her fly to the ends of Earth on her own to get injured, only to come back and stay in Tokyo to get hurt again! She only just got back and now she’s leaving again.”

“It’s not far, it will take you 20 minutes by bus to go see her whenever you want,” her father said. “And as I recall, it was not so much that you let her go to Syria than she ran away and called us from the airport. That’s what happens when you try to tell her what to do.”

Wato took a piece of apple from the plate and let her parents have their argument on their own. The plates had been in the house all her life, but she had never really looked at the floral pattern before. Red roses. She ran her finger over the pattern.

“Mom, I don’t want to argue. I’ve made up my mind,” she said. Her mother sighed, looking defeated.

“Well, at least it’s not Tokyo. You didn’t even let me visit once.”

“The long travel isn’t good for you,” Wato said.

“Not seeing my child’s face is not good for me either.”

Wato moved to sit by her mother’s side, and rested her head against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

Her mother patted her head.

Wato looked at the red roses on the plate.

 _Mom_ , she thought, _there was a person I wanted you to meet. Though you might have ended up in hospital out of shock._


	4. The meaning of home - II

Sherlock shivered in the cold evening air on the street outside the Tachibana residence. A pen in her mouth and a notebook in her hand, she dialed her phone.

“What?” Shibata’s greeting was more a sigh than a question.

Sherlock propped the phone against her shoulder to free her hand and took the pen out of her mouth.

“I sent you a license plate number, get me all the the information you can. And in a moment a photo to—”

“You know,” Shibata said, lowering his voice, “as of this moment, I have been re-instated for full twelve hours.”

Sherlock pushed the pen and the notebook into her pocket. She closed her eyes.

“It’s about… Wato.”

Shibata was quiet for a while.

“Didn’t she go home to her family?”

“She did.”

Shibata chuckled.

“So how’s the weather in Sapporo?”

“Freezing,” Sherlock snapped. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Fine, fine…”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said. “And sorry.”

“What? Did you just—”

Sherlock hung up. She selected the photo she had taken of the young man on the parking lot of the train station, and sent it to Shibata.

She had lost sight of the man at the parking lot, but not before she had seen him take a photo of the license plate of the car Wato had gotten into. Whether he had been following Wato, or the man who had arrived to pick her up, or just checking a mark for some random minor crime, Sherlock could not tell yet. But she was certain she would not rest easy before she got to the bottom of it.

Chewing her lip she stared at her phone. Next thing on the list was to tell her brother she wasn’t coming back just yet. She braced herself for scolding.

In the end Kento went straight from bafflement to resignation when Sherlock told her what she had seen.

“Are you sure you’re not imagining things?” Kento asked.

“Am I the type to imagine?” Sherlock shot back.

“Well,” Kento said slowly, “when it comes to her, I do think your thinking may not be entirely… _straight._ ”

“I hope that was not a terrible attempt at a pun,” Sherlock said.

“I have no idea what you could possibly mean.”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Sherlock said pointedly, “if there is even an off chance that it could be… _those_ people.” She loathed to even say the name.

“Everyone at The Dock was taken into custody, you know that,” Kento said

“It’s irrational and irresponsible to assume they were all there at the time,” Sherlock said. “Has there been any progress with decrypting the retrieved data?”

“I’ve been denied access to the investigation,” Kento reminded her.

“Yes. _And?_ ”

“No, just some mumbo-jumbo about the indoctrination process. I’ll keep you updated. About this Sapporo thing, though, you should just return to Tokyo. I’ll get someone else to look into it.”

“No, I can’t, she’s my…” Sherlock tried to think of the right word. “…responsibility.”

“And you’re _my_ responsibility. After everything you have been through lately, wouldn’t it be better for you to be at home?”

Sherlock did not reply.

“You’re thinking that the meaning of home has changed.”

Whenever Kento did that, guessed her thoughts at annoying accuracy, Sherlock felt compelled to deny it. But not this time. She might as well have tried to deny the Earth orbited the Sun.

Fortunately, another thing Kento did accurately was to know when there was no use trying to argue with his sister.

“Do you have money? Where are you going to stay?”

“Some,” Sherlock said. “I’ll figure it out.”

***

Sherlock walked out of a convenience store she had found nearby, having bought some food and other basic necessities. She read the message Shibata had sent her. The car belonged to Tachibana Takuya. A dentist, apparently medical career ran in the family. No criminal record of any sort, not that she had expected one. Not even a speeding ticket. Unlikely to be in some kind of trouble, but then again, you never knew. Shibata said the photo would take longer to process, not that Sherlock wasn’t aware of that.

Eating an onigiri, Sherlock walked past a park. She stopped. Behind the low hedge, with her back towards the street, Wato was sitting on a bench with a man who could only be her father. _I’m not going to eavesdrop,_ Sherlock thought. _That would be low._ But her feet wouldn’t move. _On the other hand, if I just happen to hear them talking out in the street like this, what can I do?_ She took a few steps back, away from the light of the street lamp.

“You will only start working a week from now,” Wato’s father said. “Are you sure you have to go to your new apartment tonight?”

“I need time to get used to sleeping in a new place,” Wato replied. “I can hardly go to work in the ER sleep-deprived.”

“Are you sure about the ER? I could arrange something more quiet—”

“It’s where I have to be,” Wato said. “I don’t want quiet.”

“I guess you never were one to take the easy way,” her father said. “You have an appointment with a counselor at the hospital tomorrow afternoon.”

Wato shuddered. The hairs on the back of Sherlock’s neck bristled.

“It’s just routine. You know how—”

“I know,” Wato said. “It’s… fine.”

Sherlock flipped her phone around in her hand. _Run a full background check on all the counselors of Wato’s hospital,_ she texted her brother. _You are overreacting,_ came a reply. She ignored it.

“Ryota visited us a few weeks ago,” Wato’s father said. “I heard you helped him and his new wife with something.”

 _Ah,_ Sherlock thought. _The Wakasugis._

Wato said nothing.

“That detective friend of yours seemed to have left quite an impression on everyone.”

“What did he say?” Wato covered her mouth with her hand to stifle an unexpected burst of laughter. Sherlock’s ears perked up. In the end they had solved the case and left the Wakasugis safe and happy, so surely he would not have outright cursed her out?

“He was a bit lost for words, actually,” Wato’s father said. “But he said you seemed lively and happy.”

Sherlock breathed out in relief, and then wanted to kick herself. Why did it matter what Wato’s family thought of her, anyway? She looked at Wato, whose momentary laughter had faded. She was hanging her head low. Wato’s father was about to say something else, but at that moment a car stopped on the street.

“Ah, your ride is here.”

Sherlock backed away to the cover of the hedge as Wato and her father walked to the street. She watched Wato get into the car. A new apartment, her father had said. Most likely it would be somewhere near the hospital. Sherlock turned around and walked towards the nearest bus stop. Somewhere near the hospital she should also be able to find a hostel that wasn’t too fussy about check-in details.


	5. Half-truths - I

Much to Wato’s relief, her new counselor did not resemble Doctor Irikawa even one bit. The counselor was rather young and plump and had none of Doctor Irikawa’s ability to evoke a sense of trust right from the start, which Wato found to be oddly comforting. Even so, sitting in the off-white room that lacked any sense of aesthetics, she felt mainly trapped and nauseous.

“Doctor Mizuno and you were close. How do you feel about his… incident, now that time has passed?”

“It was of course tragic,” Wato said. “But in this line of work, don’t you see tragedy every day? I just try to cherish the good memories and move on.” She was repeating lines she had rehearsed in advance.

“That’s a good attitude to have. You were briefly involved with some police work after that. Was there anything there that you found upsetting?”

“Of course,” Wato said. “Things people can do to each other…” She looked down, shaking her head. She took a deep breath and raised her head, looking determined. This, too, was rehearsed. “But in the end, most people are good. Most people just try to live their lives. And some people…” Her voice was in danger of failing her. She cleared her throat. “Some people do their everything to make things right. That’s what I learned.”

The counselor nodded and wrote down some notes to her clipboard. Wato looked at her own hands calmly resting on her lap. It was almost terrifying how composed she managed to keep herself. None of what she said was lies, but it was only a few carefully selected and polished bits of truth. She knew it was foolish to put up an act and withhold things from a person whose job was to help her, but the idea of putting her heart and mind into someone else’s hands… She shivered. She just wanted to get to work as soon as possible, to make herself feel like she could be of use. Change something. Save even one life. Make up for the damage she had done. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and smiled as the counselor looked up from her notes.

“Well, Miss Tachibana,” the counselor said, “I will want to see you again a few days after you have started working, and we’ll just see how it goes from there.”

“Of course.”

Wato walked out of the room and past the elevators, into the stairwell where she sat down and hugged her knees tightly to stop the walls around her from spinning. She knew someone watching the security cameras might be able to see her, but someone having an emotional breakdown in a hospital stairwell was hardly an uncommon sight. Regardless, she only allowed herself a few moments to calm herself down before she got up again and headed down the stairs, counting her steps one by one.

***

After leaving the hospital, Wato walked aimlessly around the streets for a while. In their kindness Takuya and his wife had made sure her apartment was already stacked with everything she needed, and while she was grateful for that, she also wished she would have been able to fill her time before starting her work at the ER by doing her own shopping and decorating the place. As it was, there was nothing to buy, save for perhaps a few plants and other small decorative items. She spent a while looking at the displays at art shops, but nothing particularly caught her eye.

She was lost in thought as she walked, and suddenly with a soft sound of a door closing, the air around her filled with a scent that reminded her of Sherlock. Her heart ached. She stopped and turned. A strong scent of coffee drifted out through the door of a coffee shop.

Wato entered the shop and walked to the counter, where the barista was counting the money in her hand with furrowed eyebrows.

“I can’t believe it,” the barista said, seemingly to herself. “Three cups and twelve chocolate bars. It’s exactly the right amount.” Shaking her head, she put the money into the cash register and turned to Wato.

“Good day, how can I help you?”

Wato looked at the coffee dripping into a cup from the coffee maker.

“What temperature water does your coffee maker use?” Wato asked.

“What?” the barista asked, for some reason looking like she was about to cry.

“Never mind,” Wato said, smiling sadly. “Do you sell coffee beans?”


	6. Half-truths - II

It did not take long for Shibata to get a match for the mysterious man from the train station, as he did indeed turn out to have a criminal record. Sitting in a coffee shop, Sherlock scrolled through the copy of the record he had sent. Takamori was the name. Vandalism, shoplifting, car theft… he had served a two-year prison sentence, but after he had done his time, there was nothing further in his record. Now he was working as a janitor in a department store. It appeared he had turned on a new leaf in his life, but a janitor surely had no reason to be keeping track of other people’s license plates. Was it the car he was after? Sherlock summoned a mental image of the car to her mind. No, the car was too ordinary for anyone to specifically try to track it down. This case was not that simple.

Sherlock sipped her coffee and immediately spat it out. For the third time, she asked the barista to replace her coffee.

“It’s still not right,” she said. “What temperature water do you use?”

“Excuse me?”

“The water. To brew coffee. What temperature is it?” Sherlock slowly emphasized each word as if talking to a child.

“Temperature? I don’t… it’s just the machine…” The barista looked like she was at the end of her rope.

“Let me take a look at the machine, then,” Sherlock said, and got up from her chair. She walked past the barista towards the counter. The barista rushed after her and blocked her way.

“No! I’m sorry! I can’t let customers behind the counter.”

Reluctantly Sherlock gave in. She marched to a shelf containing chocolate bars.

“I’ll just take these, then.”

She started to fill her pockets with chocolate.

“Ah, customer, you have to let me… how many… excuse me?”

“Twelve,” Sherlock said and slammed money on the counter. She walked out, leaving the barista stare after her with her mouth open.

***

From across the street, Sherlock watched as Wato walked out of the coffee shop, holding a small bag of coffee beans in her hand. When she had very nearly walked straight into Wato at the door of the shop, logic said it would have been wise to disappear out of sight immediately. But she could not resist lingering for a while. Wato was walking in such a daze she barely seemed to know what was going on around her. How was she to just leave her on her own in such a state? Currently, on the street outside the coffee shop, Wato stopped and looked around for a moment. Hugging the coffee beans tightly to her chest, she began to walk along the street. Sherlock watched her walk away.

“You don’t even drink coffee,” she said, pouting. “You’d better not be planning to make coffee for someone else while I have to suffer that dishwater these places sell.”

She had intended to go take a look at the store Takamori worked in, but that could wait. Slowly she started to walk in the same direction as Wato. Dazed like that, Wato might end up in an accident, she reasoned, so she needed to keep an eye on her. Yes, that was it, that was the reason she felt like she was being pulled towards Wato with invisible strings. It was guilt, and responsibility, and… alright, some kind of affection, but not like… like she was hopelessly unable to let go. Certainly, if she so decided, she could just stop and turn and go back to Tokyo. But she was not going to, because she would never leave a case midway. And she had not gone through all the trouble to save Wato from the hands of that woman just to have something else happen to her right after. If there wasn’t this mysterious case happening here, she could certainly leave. Definitely. Probably…

Wistfully watching Wato’s hunched shoulders, Sherlock pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat. She wondered what might have happened if Wato had noticed and recognized her at the coffee shop. A delighted reunion? She doubted that. Knowing Wato, she might perhaps initially be glad to see she was alive, but then… soon Wato would be in pain, and constantly reminded of the horrors she had been put through, and eventually she would again be in danger. Sherlock stopped. She was not going to let Wato get hurt again.

They had arrived at Wato’s new home. Sherlock watched Wato enter the apartment complex and climb up the stairs. For a few more minutes she stood and waited, until she saw a light turn on at a certain window. With a soft, satisfied smile she turned around and headed toward Takamori’s store. The sooner she figured out his secret, the sooner Wato would be safe.


	7. What I would do for you - I

The Tachibana residence was filled with an unusual amount of noise and laughter when Wato arrived for dinner. Her mother had badgered her all day with messages saying that she absolutely needed to come. The insistence would not have been necessary, as Wato was quite happy to have something to fill her time with. Sitting alone in a small apartment had proven to be much harder than she had anticipated. At 221b she had almost never been alone. Most often when Sherlock had gone out somewhere, she had gone with her. And when Wato had come home, almost every time, the first thing she had seen was Sherlock.

She was glad that she was distracted from the painful reminder by a familiar face coming to greet her in the hallway.

“Ryota!”

“We heard you’ve come home,” Ryota said and smiled. “Sakura is here too. We were visiting some relatives together.”

Sakura greeted Wato cheerfully in the living room. After Wato had hugged her parents, and listened patiently at her mother nag about the importance of keeping a small apartment properly organized to prevent it from descending to chaos, they sat down to have dinner. Ryota kept the conversation going, which left Wato time to just eat and watch the others. Sakura seemed much more lively and happy now. A warm, aching feeling filled Wato as she watched the two of them. Without Sherlock where would they be now? What would have happened to Daiki and little Wakana?

“It really was fortunate that Wato was able to introduce her detective friend to us,” Ryota said. Wato blinked. She realized that she had not been listening to the conversation.

“That would be the mysterious woman she lived with in Tokyo?” her mother said. “Wato, dear, shouldn’t we send this roommate of yours some kind of thank you gift? What was her name again?”

Like being soaked in ice cold water, Wato remembered she was surrounded by people who didn’t know what had happened. For a brief moment she considered telling them, but the words were hard to get out, and the solace of the cheerful conversation would have vanished in an instant. She knew that if she said nothing now, it would be even harder to bring it up in the future, and yet…

“No, that’s… that’s not necessary, mom,” she said, keeping her eyes on her food. “I was just renting a room there, after all.”

Sakura stopped eating and looked up at Wato with a puzzled expression.

“But didn’t you two go around solving other cases, too?” Ryota said. “Come on, Wato, tell us about some of them.”

Sakura nudged her husband, but he did not seem to get the hint. Under the inquisitive gazes of everyone, Wato wondered what she could tell them. Certainly she was not going to talk about the Mizunos, or how she’d almost gotten her brain fried, or the horrid murders, corrupt politicians, and most definitely nothing about Stella Maris.

“Ah,” she said, remembering one case that seemed like a safe topic. “There was this time a bride went missing during the wedding.”

“Well, that certainly _is_ a crime,” her mother said. “Wedding receptions cost a fortune. Did she run away with another man?”

“That was how it seemed at first,” Wato said, “but in time we discovered that the wedding was all part of a bigger plan. The groom was a jewelry designer, and he had stolen designs from the bride’s friend. Everything was set up just to get back the notebooks containing the stolen designs.”

For the sake of her mother, Wato figured it was best to leave out the part about the murder.

“A whole wedding for that?” her mother asked. “Sounds bizarre.”

“Maybe,” Wato said, “but the bride, she was ready to do everything she possibly could for the sake of her friend, who… was no longer able to do anything.” The words turned into a sharp, piercing feeling in her chest. “That’s something admirable, isn’t it?”

Wato turned her face down, pretending to wipe something off her clothes, to hide her eyes tearing up. All that Risa had risked for the sake of Miku who had designed a wedding band for her…

“And what did _you_ do?”

Wato blinked. The question gripped at her heart painfully.

“What?” she asked, looking up startled.

“To find out the truth about the bride, how did you help?” her mother asked. “You’re a doctor, how can you help with a case like that?”

“Oh, I guess with that case I really didn’t do much,” Wato said. She forced an embarrassed smile on her face. “Actually, I sort of almost messed up the whole investigation that time.”

“And your detective friend still brought you along the next time?”

“Yes,” Wato said, straining to keep her expression light. “Yes, I suppose she did.”

“She must have been quite fond of you,” her father said. Wato felt empty.

“I wonder when we will be able to hold a wedding for you,” her mother said. Once again Wato was sent reeling by the incidental question. Her mother sighed deeply.

“I thought that when you return home from Syria, you would start thinking about settling down,” she said. “Instead, you run around solving crimes.”

“There’s no need for her to rush,” Ryota said cheerfully. “Look at us, it took us a while to find each other, but here we are.” He smiled at Sakura.

“I’d be comforted if I thought she was even making some effort with the finding,” her mother said.

Ryota gracefully changed the topic by asking Wato’s father about the topiary in the garden, allowing Wato to calm herself down again.

Wato’s eyes met Sakura’s across the table. Sakura smiled, a somber and understanding smile. Somehow Wato could tell it wasn’t just about knowing the pressure of an overbearing mother. Quietly Sakura was understanding the things she was not saying. Perhaps Wato’s grief was too familiar to her for her not to be able to see it. Wato smiled back, grateful for the brief solace of feeling less alone.


	8. What I would do for you - II

Sherlock had come to the discovery that it was surprisingly hard to find out anything about a person without being able to rely on the resources she usually had at her disposal. She did not want to ask too many favors from Inspector Reimon, Shibata or even her brother, as they were all still themselves trying to get back on their feet after all the Stella Maris business.

Relying mostly on good old-fashioned tailing, she tried to find out everything Takamori did. Unfortunately, he did not seem to do much at all. He went to work, occasionally stopped for a drink after his shift ended, and then went back home. He seemed like a solitary sort of fellow, who only occasionally exchanged words with people at his work, and spent his free time at home watching TV. Sherlock never witnessed him going anywhere near Wato’s home, or that of Wato’s cousin. He really seemed to be doing nothing other than leading a dull, quiet life.

Sherlock was already starting to wonder if everything she had seen had really been just a coincidence, when one evening as she was following Takamori back home from work, a very fancy car was parked in front of his home.

Sherlock saw the driver motion Takamori to approach. He walked to the car, and as the window was rolled open, bowed very nearly 90 degrees. From where Sherlock was standing, she could not see the person inside the car. She could only observe Takamori, as he stood beside the car with his gaze respectfully lowered. Everything about his body language signaled subservience. After a moment, the person in the car handed a large envelope through the open window. The slender hand holding it was decorated with deep red fingernails and two glittering rings. Takamori took the envelope, again bowing deeply. Sherlock took note of the license plate before the car drove away.

Takamori stashed the envelope inside his coat, and then instead of going home, walked further along the road. Sherlock followed him to a bus stop and onto the next bus. In the bus Sherlock tried to gauge some clue about what he might be up to. Did he seem agitated? Angry? But she had to acknowledge that at most he seemed like any other person irritated by a crowded bus. Was this another dead end? Perhaps he was only on some mundane personal errand.

And then Takamori got off the bus two streets away from Wato’s apartment. With a sinking feeling Sherlock followed as he walked closer and closer to the building in question. Ahead on the street she saw Wato walk towards them, her eyes focused on the pavement in front of her. Sherlock’s heart nearly stopped. She slowed down and weighed her options. If she called the police and reported a robbery, would they arrive in time? Logic told her that there was no need to take any drastic measures before it was certain there was even any danger, but her heart fought stubbornly to overrule logic. If Sherlock had earlier hoped to see some sign that confirmed her suspicions, now she desperately hoped to be proven wrong.

Takamori stopped in front of Wato. Wato, looking slightly startled, nodded at him in greeting. Takamori took out the envelope and handed it over to Wato, who took it from him, looking puzzled. Sherlock stepped off the street to the shadow of a building to keep out of the way of Takamori who immediately turned and walked away. Wato stood on the street staring at the envelope. She did not look puzzled any longer, rather a realization seemed to be dawning on her. She showed no interest in Takamori who was walking away, instead she turned and walked across the street, towards a nearby park. Sherlock gave Takamori one last glance, and then followed Wato into the park.

Wato sat down on a bench under the light of a street lamp. For a moment she stared at the envelope apprehensively, then she tore it open. Sherlock watched as she pulled out the contents, which appeared to be some kind of documents. Wato skimmed through them, with a slight frown on her face. One she read more closely. After a moment, she placed the documents back inside the envelope, and then pushed the envelope into her bag. Sherlock tried to make some sense of what she was seeing. Wato sat still, only her feet moved, kicking the pebbles on the pathway. She seemed to be thinking, but her face showed no emotions.

Wato got up from the bench and walked a few steps, and then suddenly clutched the fence beside her. Sherlock’s feet took an involuntary step towards her, before she forced them to stop again. At first Sherlock thought Wato was going to faint, but taking support from the fence, she slowly crouched down, buried her face in her hands, and started to cry.

Feeling helpless, Sherlock watched on, unsure of what to do. She was about to lose the mental debate against herself on whether to run over to Wato, when a woman walking along the path noticed Wato and hurried to her side. Wato got back to her feet wiping off her tears, and with a reassuring smile and grateful bows sent the woman back on her way. Then she collected herself and walked back towards her home.

For a long while after the light in Wato’s window had turned on and then off again, Sherlock stood on the street watching the window.

Documents that had come from a woman with an expensive car, had been delivered by an ex-thief late at night, and had made Wato cry. What was this? Were these people trying to blackmail Wato with something?

Sherlock turned away from the window and walked back to her own dismal lodgings. It was no use trying to glean the meaning of the documents from Wato’s dark window. She needed to find out who the woman in the car was, and somehow she needed to get her hands on the contents of that envelope.


	9. Familiar faces - I

In the middle of the night Wato woke up drenched in sweat. She sat up, holding her head, trying to remember how breathing works. A sound of a gunshot echoed through her mind. With trembling hands she turned on the lamp at the desk beside her bed, pulled open the top drawer and took out a small notebook. She opened the notebook and read the words she had written on the first page. _You did not fire the gun. The sound of gunshot was from Inspector Reimon’s weapon._

Usually, when it came to the nightmares, reading the words helped. But this time all that did was dull the pain a little. Even if she had not pulled the trigger, what difference did that make? She set the notebook down on the desk, and went over to her wardrobe. She took out the Hermes coat and curled up on the bed again, hugging the coat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m too selfish.”

Her eyes fell on the corner of the envelope peeking from her bag. She pressed her face against the coat to hide it from her sight. _In a time of crisis_ , she repeated an old lesson from before she had gone to Syria, _first focus on the steps immediately in front of you. When you are overwhelmed by grief, guilt, and fear, focus on the one feeling that helps you find your way out._ Though her instructor of that time had perhaps not meant rage.

She sat up, now feeling more steady, and took the notebook from the desk. She flipped to an empty page and wrote down another reminder to herself.

_He stole the virus._

***

Wato had not expected her first day of work at the ER to be easy, especially not after a poorly slept night. Even so, by lunch break she was already far more exhausted than she had expected. Needing a break from the smell of the hospital, she decided to go out to a quiet tea shop across the street. In front of the hospital she ran into an unexpected familiar face.

“Sergeant Shibata?”

“Ah, what a coincidence!” Shibata said. He scratched his head. “Or I guess not, this is your father’s hospital, after all…”

“What are you doing here?” Wato asked.

“I, uh, came to visit… a sick relative,” Shibata said. He smiled, but the smile seemed strained.

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Wato said. She thought Shibata’s behavior was a little odd, but then again he did have his reasons to not be happy to see her. Wato knew he had almost lost his job because of Sherlock’s actions.

“Ah, we… are not sure yet,” he replied.

Wato nodded. Having met Shibata all of a sudden like this, she found herself yearning for some connection back to Tokyo, and to Sherlock.

“Do you have time to come have some tea with me?” she asked, disregarding his apparent discomfort.

Surprisingly, Shibata seemed almost relieved at the question. He smiled cheerfully.

“Sure! You are on a lunch break, I take it?”

***

“How is everything back in Tokyo?” Wato asked, after they had sat down at a table at the tea shop with their drinks.

“Things are just quiet,” Shibata said, stirring his tea. “There’s nothing much going on.”

“And Mrs. Hatano?” Wato asked. She leaned forward full of concern. “Has someone been to see how she is doing?”

“I heard she went to France to visit a friend, or something like that.”

“Oh?” Wato leaned back in her chair again. “She did often talk about wanting to travel around Europe.”

So 221b was all empty now, she thought sadly. She turned her cup around in her hands. She wanted to ask about Sherlock’s brother, too, but it was perhaps unlikely Shibata would have met up with him. She thought she should call him personally some day soon.

“And you, how are you doing?” Shibata asked. Wato looked up, a bit startled.

“Oh, I…” She tried to think of the right words to say. “Just trying to get used to hospital work again.”

“And nothing… unusual is going on?” Shibata asked.

Wato set her cup down and rested her hands on her lap. Under the table she clutched the hem of her shirt tightly. She watched Shibata’s expression, but it did not reveal anything in particular.

“Why would there be something?” she said, laughing off the question. Shibata shrugged.

“I just thought…” he said swirling the tea around in his cup, “…that after everything that has happened… well, you never know.”

Wato shook her head and smiled. She had to admit it was a perfectly normal question to ask in the circumstances. The police were no doubt still tracking down members of The Dock. There was no reason to assume Shibata knew… anything.

“No, there’s nothing,” Wato said. “Everything is… just normal.”


	10. Familiar faces - II

“Nice work,” Sherlock said to Shibata. “You found out absolutely nothing.”

Outside the window Wato was hurrying back to the hospital.

“You told me not to ask anything directly,” Shibata said and brushed her hand off. Sherlock sat down at the table.

“As long as she knows she can turn to you when she’s ready to ask for help. And the other things I asked for?”

Shibata lifted a black sports bag on the table.

“For the license plate, I didn’t have time to look into it, so I left a message about it for the inspector,” he said.

Sherlock nodded and rummaged around the bag Shibata had brought from her brother. Shibata closed his eyes as she saw the assortment of lock picks, GPS trackers, and other equipment the bag contained.

“I can’t believe I let myself be talked into this,” he said, hanging his head.

“You’re not doing anything illegal,” Sherlock said. “These are just tools.”

“In the unlikely case that is true, it’s still my day off.” He stared wistfully out of the window. “My one and only day off.”

“And you got a nice vacation with all expenses paid,” Sherlock said.

“A vacation would by definition not involve you,” Shibata said. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“By definition?” Sherlock repeated. She rolled her eyes. “You must have read some weird dictionaries at the police academy. I’ll buy you a better one.”

Sherlock closed the bag, satisfied that it had everything she had asked her brother to send over. Shibata looked like he was about to say something, then closed his mouth and looked out of the window, and then back at Sherlock again.

“Are you okay?” he breathed out finally, staring up at the ceiling.

“What?” Sherlock frowned.

“Your arm,” Shibata said.

Instinctively Sherlock moved to touch her left shoulder, then caught herself and forced her hand back down.

“It’s fine,” she said.

Shibata did not look convinced. Sherlock furrowed her brows and looked at him sternly.

“Stop that,” Sherlock said. “I already have a brother. There’s no vacancy.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Shibata said. “Where are you going?”

Sherlock stood up and hoisted the bag over her shoulder.

“I have some things to do. You can just go enjoy your vacation that does not involve me,” she said.

“Are you sure? You’re not going to get yourself in trouble again, right?”

Sherlock turned to look at him with an amused expression. She nudged his forehead with her fist.

“I’ll let you know if I decide I need a second brother.”

“Now I _know_ there’s something seriously wrong with you!” Shibata called after her.

***

Much to Sherlock’s delight, the door of Wato’s apartment was fitted with a digital lock requiring a number code. She would have hated to accidentally damage the lock while picking it, leaving Wato more vulnerable for break-ins. She chewed on the nail of her thumb and stared at the lock. Wato would not be so clueless she would use her own birth-date as a code. Parents’ birth-dates, also unlikely. Though Wato was sentimental, no doubt about that. Perhaps her parents’ wedding anniversary? Shibata could look that up if needed, but first… Tentatively she punched in the code 2 2 1… 3. The door clicked open. Sherlock sighed and shook her head. Well, perhaps Wato could be forgiven for not thinking she needed a code Sherlock wouldn’t guess in less than thirty seconds.

Sherlock stopped before pulling the door open, resting her palm against it.

“I’m sorry about this,” she said to the door, “but I have to find out.”

The apartment was tiny, just one room, a kitchen that was more like a cupboard, and a small bathroom. Even so, everything was neat and organized, as expected from Wato. Sherlock stepped in, then stopped, chewed on her lip, and took off her shoes. She peeked into the kitchen. On a glass jar on the windowsill were some coffee beans. _Perfect way to ruin good coffee,_ Sherlock thought.

She walked back into the main room. She ran her hand on the violet lily-patterned wallpaper. Hanging on a coat hanger in front of the wardrobe was a familiar coat. Sherlock took the green sleeves in her hands, as if the coat might answer her questions if addressed like a person.

“What do you keep this for? It still has blood stains on it.” She shook her head.

On a desk by the bed was a neat arrangement of medical books and some novels. On top of them was a small notebook. Sherlock skimmed through it. One page had been torn off, otherwise only the first page had any writing. _You did not fire the gun. The sound of gunshot was from Inspector Reimon’s weapon._ Sherlock sat down on the bed. Of course. In that situation Wato would not be sure about what had really happened. She remembered the sound of another gunshot, and feeling slightly nauseous put the notebook away.

As she leaned down to look inside the drawers of the desk, she saw a photograph that had fallen on the floor, and was half buried under the rug. She reached to pick the photo up, but stopped as she recognized the person in the photo. It was Moriya. A wave of anger, guilt and jealousy engulfed her, and she turned her head away, closing her eyes. Did Wato still want to keep a memento of him? Of course, why wouldn’t she… Swallowing her feelings, she glanced at the photo again. This time, the detective in her brain managed to get the message through to her that someone else was in the photo as well. She pulled the photo out from under the rug. The person standing by Moriya’s side, resting her hand on his shoulder and smiling, was Mitsuki Kurata. Behind them was what looked like a field hospital.

Sherlock reassessed the significance of the photo. If Wato wanted to keep a memento, why this photo? And how had she even come by it? Had it come in the envelope? Was that why Wato had cried? But no, she had not been looking at photos, only reading documents. Frustrated, Sherlock shook her head and pushed the photo back to where it had been. Nothing was getting clearer. It was only an assumption to think the envelope even had anything to do with Moriwaki or The Dock.

Sherlock went through the drawers of the desk, even checked under the mattress of the bed, but the envelope was nowhere to be found. In the end, she left Wato’s apartment none the wiser.

Her frustration was further increased when Inspector Reimon sent her the information about the mysterious woman in the car. Her name was Hami Hoshino, and she was an heiress of the Hoshino pharmaceutical company which was deeply shrouded in rumors of tax evasion. Even the prosecution had failed to get their claws on the family. She was most certainly a person Sherlock would have hard time getting close to.

In normal circumstances this case would have been like a dream come true; clues that seemed to have nothing to do with one another, and a nearly unreachable opponent. If only it had not been Wato’s safety that was at stake.


	11. Emotions vs. logic - I

Wato walked along the corridor of the ER with a clipboard in her hand. She stepped out of the way of a patient being taken to surgery, stopped to hand patient records over to a nurse, and overall blended into the ER just like any other doctor. Which was, of course, exactly what she was, except…

In the bustle of the ER no one noticed the somewhat nervous glance she gave to her surroundings before she stepped behind the curtain drawn around one of the beds.

“And how are we doing here?” she asked cheerfully.

“Apparently I have a deficiency of stories to write about,” said the patient, who was certainly not in need of any kind of medical attention at all. “I haven’t seen you since you left for Syria,” he said. “What’s with this secretive meeting?”

Arata was Wato’s classmate from high-school, one of the few Wato had kept in contact with all these years. He was also a journalist, which was the reason Wato had set up this meeting.

“I don’t know who I can trust these days,” Wato said.

Arata eyed Wato, appearing to be questioning her mental stability.

“I’m not crazy,” Wato said. “But a lot has happened. I need you to read this.”

She took out a folded up paper from her clipboard and stashed it into the front pocket of his shirt.

“Now please leave quickly, you are taking space from real patients.” She shooed him off the bed.

“You’re the one who asked me here,” he replied sulkily, collecting his jacket from the foot of the bed.

“Which is precisely why I have to ask you to leave quickly. Otherwise, what kind of doctor am I?”

“Please get in contact after you have considered the procedure,” she called after him. Her friend waved her goodbye and walked out.

***

Before her shift started the following day, Wato walked to the parking hall of a department store, full of determination. She found Takamori fixing a light in a corner of the hall. He did not seem pleased to see her.

“I want to meet your employer,” she said firmly.

“Ask in the information center of the store,” he said, focused on his work.

“Not that one.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Tell them… I need to… I want to know more.”

Takamori ignored her, flipped the light fixture back on its place, and walked across the hall. Wato had not come all this way to give up so easily.

“I know things,” she said, following at his tail. “I have connections, too.”

Takamori picked up his tool case, and still ignoring Wato walked over to the gate of the parking hall, starting to check the condition of the mechanism.

“I know I can be useful somehow,” Wato said. She pursed her lips together and stared at him eyes full of defiance.

Takamori, whose disposition had thus far been avoidant, now turned to face Wato. He drew himself to his full height, and glared down at her.

“Just go back to doing whatever it is you do,” he said. He poked Wato in the shoulder so hard that she had to take a step back to keep her balance. “If you know what’s good for you.”

He walked away again, and this time Wato did not follow. With her hands trembling she hurried out of the hall.


	12. Emotions vs. logic - II

That night, when Takamori was returning home he received another unwelcome visitor. As he stopped to look for his keys at the walkway in front of the door to his apartment, he suddenly found himself being pulled backwards by his collar, and thrown against the wall.

He groaned, as Sherlock pressed her elbow against his throat. She held up her phone, showing a photo of Wato.

“What do you want with this woman?” she asked. He opened one eye.

“Never seen her in my life,” he said. His voice was strained due to the pressure of Sherlock’s arm, but she did not yield.

“She came to see you today,” Sherlock said.

“A lot of people come to the store.”

“You _pushed_ her.”

This was admittedly a useless addition to the interrogation, but in Sherlock’s eyes it was nonetheless a crime that needed to be acknowledged.

“She must have been being annoying, then.”

The answer earned him a kick in the shin. He folded down, but Sherlock dragged him up by his collar again.

“Let me ask you again. What do you want with her?”

He coughed and looked at Sherlock as if trying to figure out what to make of her.

“Are you after her or protecting her?” he asked.

“ _I’m_ asking the questions here,” Sherlock said.

The clang of the door to the stairwell alerted them both. Sherlock saw two men approaching. Takamori smirked. He turned his head away from the approaching men.

“If you don’t want to get hurt,” he said in a low voice, “I suggest you run.”

Sherlock weighed her options. Fighting three men was definitely not one of the viable ones. The stairs down were blocked by the approaching men, and leaping over the railing of the walkway was unlikely to do anything other than leave her crippled down on the street.

She backed away from Takamori who rubbed his throat, coughing. His keys had fallen on the floor, and Sherlock snatched them, starting to unlock the door. Rudely she kicked Takamori to the side to block the way of the other men, as the door opened.

“Sorry!” she shouted cheerfully, entered Takamori’s apartment, and slammed the door shut behind her.

She gave a brief glance to the apartment, wistfully thinking it would have been great to have time to search through it. But getting out again was now the most urgent matter. She stomped through the living room to the slide door of the balcony, stepped out, and looked down. Here too, the fall was too high, but on the side just within her reach was a fire escape. She hoisted herself to the ladder, wincing at the pain the effort caused in her left shoulder.

Gritting her teeth, she began to climb down, hoping she would get to the bottom before the men pursuing her would think of looking behind the building.

The ladder, unfortunately, had seen better days. The bar under her right hand cracked, not enough to break entirely, but enough the cause her lose her grip and cut the palm of her hand on the sharp edge. Squeezing her bleeding fist shut she continued down, mainly relying on her left arm for support, which was no less painful.

With a relieved sigh she finally jumped down to the grass on the ground.

She managed to take only a few steps, when she heard shouting above her.

_“There!”_

“Who is that even?”

“Catch her so you can ask!”

Sherlock did not stop to introduce herself, instead she headed to the narrow alleys between the buildings across the street. She hid in a gap between two buildings, trying to staunch the bleeding in her palm. The cut was not deep, the problem was the width, and the fact that she had nothing to wrap around it. She pulled her arm out of the sleeve of her coat, and wrapped the sleeve around her palm.

Her left shoulder felt like it was on fire. But that was something to worry about later. She listened to the shouts and footsteps on the street, and content they were far away enough, started to make her way in the other direction.

Unfortunately it turned out they had not all ran in the same direction. As she stepped around the corner of a building she found herself face to face with Takamori.

Sherlock grinned.

“How about we talk about this,” she said.

Takamori did not reply. He dragged Sherlock by her collar to a metal door which he pulled open. Behind the door was a staircase leading to a small storage room.

“This is for that kick,” he said, and pushed Sherlock down the stairs. Sparks of pain flashed through her brain as her shoulder hit the floor. Takamori slammed the door shut, leaving Sherlock alone in the dark.

The feeling of the cold, rough stone floor under her cheek helped Sherlock stay focused. Even so, she was not quite sure how much time had passed when she finally managed to get herself up to a sitting position. The dark storage room was only illuminated by a tiny window with a view to the street. The window was propped open, but it was too small for a human to crawl out of. Sherlock took out her phone. It would be hard for Kento to help all the way from Tokyo, but they could certainly work something out together.

Before she managed to make the call, she heard a car pull to a stop out on the street. A pair of fancy men’s shoes stepped out of it, in front of the tiny window.

“What happened?” Sherlock heard the owner of the shoes ask.

Someone further on the street replied, but Sherlock could not make out the words.

“I told you that woman is too troublesome to keep around,” the man with the shoes said. “Deal with it.”

The shoes vanished and the car drove away.

For a moment Sherlock sat still and listened. No one came to the door of the storage. Probably ‘that woman’ didn’t refer to Sherlock anyway, as no one had been keeping her around as far as she knew.

_Wato?_

Sherlock forgot about the call she had meant to make. She climbed up to her feet. Wato had irritated Takamori earlier. And now Sherlock had perhaps pushed him even further. She climbed up the stairs to the door. Wato would be at work now, but returning home later, she would be vulnerable. She kicked at the door, which much to her surprise swung open without any resistance.

Sherlock did not stop to wonder at that.

Wato was in danger.

_Not again. Never again._


	13. A waking dream - I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit for the ideas in this scene go to the anon who sent me this scenario. The details changed a bit, but I hope it was fine for me to use it this way.

“Doctor Tachibana, there’s a patient who’s… kind of weird.”

Wato looked up from the patient records she had been going over. A medical student who had just started her training fidgeted in front of her.

“Weird? Did you call the security?” Wato asked.

“Not weird like that, just… the patient keeps refusing treatment, and insisting you need to come.”

“Oh?” a nurse piped in. She nudged at Wato playfully. “You’ve been here such a short time, and a patient has already fallen for you?”

“It’s a woman,” the student said.

“Like I said…” The nurse smirked and walked away.

“I need to check these,” Wato said, indicating the records. “We’re not personal servants, there are other far more qualified doctors around.”

“I’m sorry, doctor,” the student said, looking miserable. “I just really don’t know how to deal with this patient.”

Wato took pity on her. The skill of dealing with difficult patients did not develop overnight, after all.

“Fine, I’ll go take a look.”

Wato walked to the bed at the end of the hall. A curtain had been drawn around the bed, but a pair of muddy shoes lay on the floor just outside.

She drew back the curtain. The patient was laying on the bed with her back towards Wato, the hood of her coat drawn over her head. Wato looked at the patient record but no one had filled up any information. She took in the blood stains and dirt on the clothes of the patient. Why was this person specifically asking for her?

“Can you hear me?” Wato asked. “Is there a family member we can call?”

There was no response.

She walked around the bed. There was a lot of dried blood on the right hand of the patient. She turned the hand palm upwards. The cut certainly needed to be disinfected as soon as possible. She drew back the curtain.

“Nurse, can you—”

The hand she had been holding gripped hers tightly.

_“Wato.”_

Wato felt like all the sensation from her body faded. The noise of the ER turned into distant echoes.

Was she dreaming?

It could not possibly be. And at the same time, she did not need any other confirmation to know with absolutely certainty that it _was_.

The nurse Wato had called walked over to her, puzzled by Wato’s blanched face.

“What is it, Doctor Tachibana? Is something wrong?”

Wato wrangled her hand free and pulled the curtain firmly closed, stepping outside of it.

“The patient needs some privacy,” Wato said. Her breath was getting caught up in her throat. She squeezed her hands into fists.

_What do I do?_

“There’s a cut that needs cleaning and possibly stitches,” she heard herself say. “Can you bring me the kit? And… don’t let anyone disturb us.”


	14. A waking dream - II

Sherlock opened her eyes slowly, feeling disoriented. Even though the room around her was dark, her eyes hurt. She stared at the wallpaper. Lily pattern. Her brain struggled to connect the dots.

She turned her head and saw Wato sitting in a chair beside the bed. She was hanging her head, her hair draped around her face so that Sherlock could not see if she was awake.

“You know, I stole an awful lot of medical supplies from our hospital because of you,” Wato said without raising her head. Her voice was calm and distant.

Sherlock looked at the IV bag that had been hung from the ceiling with the help of coat hangers, and the tube that came down from it to her hand. Slowly she was starting to form a picture of the situation.

“ _And_ a wheelchair,” Wato added, still unmoving.

“Oh,” Sherlock said.

Wato made a noise that was somewhere halfway between laughter and crying.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she asked. The coldness in her voice chilled Sherlock.

“That’s all _you’re_ going to say?” Sherlock said. The words felt painful in her mouth. If she had hoped Wato to be happy to see her, she had clearly been delusional.

“What am I supposed to say?” Wato asked. “Nice to see you are _not quite as dead as I thought?!_ ” She was shouting now. Sherlock closed her eyes, wincing at the strength of her voice.

“Do you even have any idea…” Wato’s voice broke. She breathed rapidly. “Did I even need to go through all this trouble to bring you here secretly? Does the entire rest of the world know but me?”

“No,” Sherlock said, keeping her eyes closed. “Just a few people.”

 _Thank you_ , she wanted to say. But in face of Wato’s rage the words did not want to come out. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but the feeling in her head sent her straight back down.

“Lie still,” Wato snapped. She got up from the chair and walked over to adjust the IV. Sherlock could now see her face, streaked with tears.

“What have you even been up to that you come back to me in this condition?” Wato asked. Her lip trembled.

“Protecting a friend,” Sherlock said quietly. She struggled to understand Wato’s emotional state, but she felt like somehow she needed to soothe her.

“You don’t have friends,” Wato said. Her voice sounded tired.

“Just one.”

Wato’s hand stopped on the IV.

“So then why do I not get to be one of the people who knew?” she asked, staring at the IV bag in front of her.

“I though you were better off that way,” Sherlock said.

“I was better off thinking you’re dead?” Wato asked, closing her eyes. _“How?”_

There was the rage again. Sherlock did not know how to deal with it.

“So you could blame me for everything and think the guilty have been punished, justice is done, you can forget and move on!”

“Move on?” Wato turned her back to Sherlock, wiping her face with her sleeves. “I guess someone really needs to tell you this at least once, but for god’s sake Sherlock, for a person with superior intellect you really are sometimes just _immensely stupid!_ ”

She took a few deep breaths.

“I though you died because of me!” she said, slumping back into the chair.

“It wasn’t because of you,” Sherlock said.

“Right,” Wato said. “I’m clearly not important enough.”

“That’s not what I mean! It wasn’t your fault!”

“Yes,” Wato said in a hollow voice, “I’ve been told that a lot.”

Sherlock tried to sit up again. She wanted to get out. There were far too many emotions in the air and her head felt like it was going to explode. Wato stood up and pushed Sherlock firmly back down. In protest, Sherlock rolled to her side and stared at the tube of the IV in her hand accusingly.

“I told you to lie still,” Wato said. “Until the IV is finished, you’re not allowed to get up. I’ll tie you to the bed if I have to.”

She took a blanket and covered Sherlock with it, tightly tugging the sides under her to keep her warm. Then she did something that to Sherlock seemed to be completely at odds with all the shouting so far; she crawled to the bed behind her, draped one arm over her waist and snuggled up close to her, pressing her face against Sherlock's shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked weakly.

“This is your punishment,” Wato said. “Just endure it.”

***

When Sherlock woke up the sky outside the window was starting to grow lighter. The IV had been removed from her hand, and the needle mark was covered with a floral patterned band-aid. Wato was fast asleep, using Sherlock’s healthy shoulder as her pillow.

 _This must be some kind of dream_ , Sherlock thought. She rested her hand lightly on Wato’s head.

The alarm clock went off, and Wato sat up like pulled by strings. She slammed the alarm shut.

“Morning shift,” she said, and ruffled up her hair. “I hate morning shifts.” She yawned and looked down at Sherlock. Then she threw herself on her back on the bed and started to laugh.

“You really should wash your face,” she said. Sherlock sat up, pouting, and threw the blanket over Wato’s head.

“You think _you_ look like a magazine model?” Sherlock said.

Sherlock stomped to the bathroom, while Wato’s laughter continued, muffled by the blanket.

Wato was laughing. This was definitely some kind of dream.

Sherlock looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was streaked with dirt and dried blood. Here and there were a few minor cuts and scratches, she could not remember how they had got there. Rolling down the stairs, probably. She washed her face, then stopped again with her face dripping wet. Something was nagging at her mind. The door had not been locked. If Takamori had intended to trap her down there, why had he left the door unlocked?

As she walked out of the bathroom drying her face, the fresh smell of coffee wiped out all other thoughts from her mind. Almost dazed she sat down at the small table. Wato set down a cup in front of her.

“It’s not quite up to your standards,” Wato said. She went to the bathroom tying up her hair. “Next time you like to pretend to be dead, I’ll make sure to still have proper coffee all times!”

Sherlock sat at the table cradling the cup in her hands. The heat felt uncomfortable against the bandaged cut in her right hand, but she did not care. Right now everything seemed magically fine and normal. She knew everything was not fine. There was likely to be a great deal more shouting ahead. Too many things were still left unsorted. But the calm was welcome, even if it would only last momentarily.

Wato returned from the bathroom. She set down a pack of painkillers on the table.

“Take these if you’re in pain,” she said. “But no more than one every three hours. Come to the hospital if you feel worse. Otherwise, stay here. You may feel better now but you’re not fine. Just rest. Don’t do anything crazy. Eat what ever you can find in the kitchen. I'll bring home something better after work.”

Sherlock nodded meekly, and watched as Wato bustled around like a dutiful wife in a morning drama. Sherlock half-expected to get a kiss goodbye when Wato put on her shoes.

Suddenly she remembered the reason she had gone to the hospital in the first place.

“Wato!”

Wato froze and looked at her as if shocked to hear her own name. Sherlock, feeling flustered, looked down at the coffee.

“You could be in danger,” she said. “That guy… you went to see him at the store yesterday… I think he might come after you.”

Wato seemed surprisingly unfazed by the news.

“Well, it would be stupid of him to do anything at the hospital, and I’m coming back in broad daylight, so I doubt anything will happen today.”

“Still,” Sherlock said, starting to get up from the chair, “Oh, my phone—”

“Yes, I already got your new number,” Wato said with a hint of smile. “Your phone is on the desk.”

Sherlock sunk back to the chair. Had Wato always been so… proactive?

Wato turned to leave, but stopped before opening the door.

“Don’t disappear,” she said and glanced back at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded, and wearing a bright smile Wato walked out.


	15. Living with the devil

Wato half ran back home from the hospital. Even though she had messaged Sherlock a few times over the course of her work shift to ask how she was feeling (and received back one word replies), she was afraid that when she opened the door Sherlock would be gone. Or worse, she would wake up to find everything had been just a dream. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest when she pulled the door open.

Sherlock was laying on the bed reading something on Wato’s tablet. A strange sense of familiarity filled Wato. Even if the backdrop was not the messy room in 221b, the scene seemed just like any normal day back in Tokyo.

“I’m home,” Wato said. She took a deep breath to slow down her pulse.

“Mmm.” Sherlock did not look up from the tablet.

“I bought some food.” Wato kicked off her shoes and walked over to the tiny dining table. She set down the small bag of food she had brought. “It’s just a few things from the hospital cafeteria, though. We should go buy something better later. What do you want to eat?”

Sherlock walked over to table and took a bagel from the bag. She kept reading the tablet while eating, sitting on the edge of the table.

“I’ve been thinking about this whole day,” Wato said, “but does Mrs. Hatano know you’re fine? You’re like family to her, it’s not right to lie to her.”

“She knows,” Sherlock said, still focused on her reading. “I couldn’t lie to her about…” She stopped, and glanced sideways at Wato.

“So you _do_ know it’s awful to lie about something like that to people who care about you,” Wato said. She pressed her lips tightly together. That had come out a bit more snippy than she had intended.

Sherlock tried hard to swallow the bagel but it kept getting stuck in her throat. Shaking her head, Wato went to the kitchen and brought her a glass of water.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m trying to understand. In your very Sherlock way of thinking you thought you were doing me a favor.” She started piling the contents of the bag to the table, a bit more aggressively than necessary. “And maybe you just don’t know how much I… how sad I would be.”

Sherlock managed to prevent herself from choking on the bagel. Still coughing, she walked to back to the bed, tossed the tablet down and picked up sheets of paper that had been scattered around. She cleared her throat.

“Why did the heiress of Hoshino Pharmaceuticals send you these?” she asked, starting to leaf through the papers. “Information about Teinichi Chemicals’ virus, eye-witness accounts about Mitsuki Kurata’s death, the autopsy report of…” Her voice faltered. “Anyway, why?”

“What? How did you…” Wato struggled to keep track of everything Sherlock had said. “Wait, _who_ did you say sent them?”

Sherlock tilted her head.

“You don’t even know where these came from?”

Wato looked from the papers to her desk, then back to Sherlock. She frowned.

“Did you search through my things while I was gone?” she asked. Sherlock waved her hand irritably.

“Irrelevant, just answer the question.”

“Am I being interrogated?”

Sulking, Wato took off her coat and threw it over the back of a chair. The atmosphere was starting to get a little too much like 221b.

“I’m just trying to get the picture of what is going on,” Sherlock said. “So these? You didn’t know who sent them?”

Wato sighed. She knew well this conversation needed to happen, she had been preparing for it all day. She just had not expected it to be launched at her quite so aggressively before she even got a chance to sit down.

“No… not exactly,” she said. She sat down on the chair, slowly and meticulously, before continuing. “When I was leaving Tokyo, a person I had seen at The Dock approached me. He didn’t say anything, just gave me a photograph and a note.”

“This photo?” Sherlock fished out a photograph of Moriya and Kurata among the papers.

“Yes,” Wato said. She did not even bother getting irritated anymore.

“And the note?”

“It just read ’if you want to know the truth’, followed by a phone number.”

“And you called the number?”

“Eventually, yes. They didn’t say anything but then that guy arrived with the envelope the next day.”

“So you didn’t call them until several days after your arrived,” Sherlock said, thoughtfully staring at the papers. “But he was already following you when you arrived from Tokyo.”

“He was?” Wato asked. “Wait, how do you know that?”

“Again, irrelevant.” Sherlock tossed the papers back to the bed. “Why did you call them?”

“Because I wanted to know the truth!”

“And you thought these people would tell you that?”

“Of course not!” Wato said. “I knew it would probably be all lies. But, even so, if there was something… that could be useful…” She looked down at the floor, clenching her hands into fists.

“Useful for what?”

Wato did not reply. She had thought long and hard how to explain it all to Sherlock, but now the conversation was not going her way at all.

“Does it have something to do with this thing you’re writing?” Sherlock picked up the tablet again.

“What?!” Wato jumped up from the chair, rushed over to Sherlock and snatched the tablet from her hands. She stared at the screen in horror. “This was password-protected!”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, as if that was not an issue at all. “Why are you writing that?”

“It’s just basic manners to not read someone’s private files! Or search through their home! I’m not a criminal you’re investigating!”

Wato walked furiously to her desk, threw the tablet into the top drawer and slammed the drawer shut. Fortunately she had at least not poured her deepest feelings into the text, but had she known Sherlock would read it, she would certainly have praised that _devil_ of a woman a little less.

She turned to face Sherlock with a defiant look, standing in front of the desk as if she needed to guard it from further intrusions.

“What did you expect me to do?” Sherlock said, scowling at Wato’s tantrum. “You’re the one who left me alone all day in a…” She gestured around the tiny apartment. “A box!”

“Right, I should have had the sense to leave you some toys,” Wato said scathingly. “And a scratching post.”

Sherlock looked liked she was about to respond to Wato’s remark, but then she just waved her hand again.

“Don’t change the subject. You didn’t answer my question,” Sherlock said. She crossed her arms and stared down at Wato like a school-teacher lecturing a rowdy student.

“I was going to write the truth,” Wato snapped. She wanted to calm herself down again, but under Sherlock’s intense gaze it was not working out. “The real truth. A journalist I know said he would publish the article. About what you did and all the lives you saved.”

Sherlock frowned.

“Why?” she asked.

“ _Why?_ Because you…” Wato gasped for breath. “You died and everything people know is just lies!”

Sherlock rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you realize what kind of danger you’re putting yourself into for a silly thing like this?”

“Yes! I know!” Wato shouted. “Maybe it’s silly and useless but I didn’t know what else I can do! And I know it’s dangerous but some things are worth that!”

Sherlock turned away, blinking her eyes. For a moment she was quiet.

“Fine,” she said eventually. “But it stops now. Since I am not dead, you can stop this now.”

“No,” Wato said. She walked in front of Sherlock, forcing her to face her. “It’s even more important now. I can’t let you live as a fugitive forever!”

“I will deal with that somehow,” Sherlock said. Avoiding Wato’s eyes, she turned away again. “You are not going to do anything that puts you in danger again.”

“No, _you_ are not going to go do anything that gets you injured again!”

Persistently Wato walked around Sherlock to face her. Sherlock finally looked her in the eyes, scowling at her sternly. Wato stared back, full of determination. After a moment Sherlock gave up and walked over to the dining table, starting to rip another bagel into pieces.

“Alright,” Wato said, forcing her voice calm again. “I’ve answered your questions. Your turn now. How did you get injured? Why did you suddenly show up? How did you even know what has been happening here?”

Sherlock did not reply. She chewed her bagel slowly.

“How long have you been here?” Wato asked.

Sherlock swallowed the last piece of the bagel and sighed.

“Since… you arrived,” she said.

“What?”

Wato took a deep breath. She did not want to start another argument. She went to the kitchen and and filled a kettle with water, and set it to boil. She took two mugs from the shelf and set them down on the counter.

While the water boiled she stared at the coffee beans on the windowsill. She was not sure what she was feeling. On one hand there was pain and anger for how much time she had spent feeling like her soul was being ripped out of her. And she did not even know how to say that to Sherlock. That it had hurt to lose her. It had really, really hurt. And the hole time, Sherlock had actually been there. So close. And then again, _the whole time she had been there._ Thinking Wato was better off without her, she had still been there. Watching over her.

Wato buried her face in her hands.

“You’re boiling out the water.”

Wato took a startled step backwards as Sherlock pushed past her to turn off the kettle. She stood back as Sherlock finished preparing the tea. Sherlock picked up both of the mugs, and Wato followed her out of the kitchen.

“Where have you been staying?” Wato asked when they were seated at the table drinking their tea.

“At the hostel near the post office,” Sherlock said. She pushed bagel crumbs around on the surface of the table.

“That place?” Wato asked. “Do you know what kind of people stay there?”

“People who want to disappear,” Sherlock said, shrugging.

“You’re not going back there,” Wato said. She set down her mug, and crossed her hands in front of her on the table. “We’ll go there just to get your things and then come back. You’ll stay here for now. We’ll buy food on the way.” She stopped to think for a moment. “And the shampoo you like. Is there anything else we need?”

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Sherlock asked.

“Do you _want_ to stay there?” Wato asked. “I know this is small, but at least it’s clean. An the doors lock properly.” She look around the room. “Should we look for a bigger place?”

“I mean just temporarily,” Wato added hastily, as Sherlock stopped with her mug halfway to her lips. “I don’t think we… you…” Wato stood up to take her mug back to the kitchen.

“Anyway, let’s just get your stuff first,” Wato said, walking out of the kitchen. “Get your coat. No, wait, it’s all bloody.”

Sherlock got up, walked over to the wardrobe, pulled it open and took out a familiar green coat.

“This will do,” she said.

“That has blood on it, too,” Wato said. She tried to think of some excuse why she had the coat, but in the end Sherlock did not ask.

“The blood is only on the inside,” Sherlock said. “No one can tell.”

Wato picked up her own coat. At the door she spun around to face Sherlock again.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you didn’t answer my questions,” Wato said. “This is not over.”

Sherlock leaned over her to push the door open, and then gently pushed Wato out of the door.


	16. A pot and a kettle

Out on the street Wato eyed their surrounding nervously.

“Is it alright for you to just walk around like this?” she asked. “What if someone is looking for you? Should I just go alone, after all?”

“Who would be looking for a dead person?” Sherlock asked. She, too, was looking around carefully, but not for her own sake. She was definitely not letting Wato walk around in the dark on her own.

“But if someone recognizes you? I even ran into Sergeant Shibata the other day.”

“Yes, he came to bring me some things from my brother,” Sherlock said.

Wato sighed.

“So even he knew before I did,” she said.

Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably. She did not quite understand why Wato was so hung up on this matter.

“He just happened to know because he helped me to not die,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Wato said. “I don’t mean to… I’m going to drop this now. Really. It’s good you weren’t all alone, at least.”

Wato walked ahead, shoulders slightly slumped. Sherlock followed half a step behind. What did Wato meant by that? Was it another bitter remark? But no, it was really just genuine sentiment, wasn’t it? This silly little person just cared too much.

And for that reason, Sherlock’s clever plan for making sure Wato would be safe had failed. Because Wato had gone and walked into danger on her own. For Sherlock’s sake. Sherlock was not sure why, but knowing this irritated her. Maybe it had been a big mistake to tell Wato they were friends.

Wato stopped so abruptly that Sherlock bumped into her, and then had to wrap her arm around Wato’s shoulder to stop her from falling over. Blinking, Sherlock looked around. They had arrived at the crosswalk.

“What are you thinking about so deeply?” Wato asked, steadying herself. “You look upset.”

“I’m not upset!”

“Yes,” Wato said, shaking her head. “I can see that.”

Sherlock pulled her arm away and pushed her hands into the pockets of the coat. When she looked at Wato again, she caught her looking at her with a dreamy expression.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh?” Wato turned her eyes down. “That coat really suits you.”

“It’s my coat.” Sherlock was confused. What was this now? Did Wato want the coat back? It wasn’t even her size.

They crossed the street to an alley that was lined by small restaurants and shops.

“Is there anything you want to eat?” Wato asked. “Should we cook something or buy take-out?” She stopped to sniff the air by a shop that sold curry. “That smells good!”

Sherlock shook her head. She pushed Wato past the shop.

“You need to eat fish,” she said. “And fruits. You need extra vitamins when you’re working shifts.”

“I’m the doctor here,” Wato said, wistfully looking back at the curry shop.

“Yes,” Sherlock snapped, “and you don’t take care of yourself half as much as you take care of everyone else!”

That was the problem, really. Why couldn’t Wato just put herself before others? Sherlock rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. Why was she so stubbornly caring?

***

While Sherlock gathered her things at the hostel, Wato stood by the door eyeing the walls of the room as if expecting something might leap out of them and bite her. Sherlock had to admit there was perhaps a chance of that actually happening, too. It hadn’t been just one or two nights she had been kept awake by odd chirping noises inside the walls.

In truth, Sherlock was quite pleased with the change of living arrangements, not that she planned to let Wato know that. Not only was Wato’s apartment a significant upgrade from this place, even as small as it was, but it would also be much easier to make sure Wato would not run off doing something foolish again. Clearly Sherlock needed to stay glued to her side to keep her safe. Distance had not worked.

Wato stopped monitoring the walls to give a critical look to the things Sherlock was throwing into her bag.

“At least you haven’t put one of those on me this time,” Wato said, nodding at the GPS tracker.

“It would certainly make everything a lot easier if you wore one at all times,” Sherlock said. She held up the tracker. “I could make it into a nice necklace. Or earrings?”

“I’ll have to remember to be cautious if you ever give me any jewelry,” Wato said.

Sherlock shrugged and tossed the tracker into the bag.

“It saved your life, in case you forgot.”

“The problem is not the tracker,” Wato said, “but you doing things without asking. You should respect people’s wishes.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“That’s cute,” she said, “but if your wish is to walk blindly into danger, I have no intention of respecting that.”

Wato sighed deeply.

“Sometimes the things you say would be so amazing to hear if you weren't so rude about it,” she said.

Sherlock stopped in the middle of stashing a shirt into the bag.

“What?”

“You could just say you want to protect me.”

Sherlock felt the base of her neck grow hotter. Was she the blushing type? She realized she had no idea. This was not a common occurrence, that was for certain. She lifted the collar of her coat higher, and continued packing.

“That’s the problem with your writing, too,” she said gruffly. “You romanticize everything. Just stick to the facts.”

“I do write facts!” Wato said. “I’m just not rude about it like _some_ people!”

Sherlock took one last look around the room. Satisfied that she had packed everything, she picked up the bag.

“Facts?” she said, walking to Wato’s side. “Like the part where you said I’m captivating?”

“That meant… that you draw attention because you’re so outrageous.”

Wato turned swiftly around and pushed the door open, escaping from the room.

“Now who’s rude?” Sherlock called after her.

***

Sherlock walked out of the bathroom, awkwardly trying to towel her hair dry with her injured hand. The stitches made it difficult, but compared to trying to move her left shoulder, it was still the less painful option.

“What are you doing?” Wato asked, hurrying to her side. She wrestled the towel away from her hand. “You’re going to tear your hand open again!”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sherlock asked. “Just not dry my hair?”

“You should ask for help,” Wato said. She sat Sherlock down in a chair. “And if your shoulder hurts that much you should have told me right away!”

Sherlock sunk into the chair. Wato started to towel her hair dry, entirely unnecessarily gently. Sherlock pouted in quiet protest.

Wato set the towel aside, took Sherlock’s injured hand into hers and turned it palm upwards. She examined the wound, seemed satisfied that it was healing well, and turned her attention to Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock tried to evade her.

“It’s—”

“Stay still!”

Wato placed her hand behind Sherlock’s head to get her to sit still. Sherlock froze. Wato’s fingers cradled the back of her neck.

Sherlock held her breath. Even if she had decided to stay glued to Wato’s side, this was far too much closeness. She was vaguely aware that she herself carelessly trampled over other people’s personal space on a frequent basis, but this was different. Someone shouldn’t have been able to be so easily so close and make her… feel things.

“You should come to the hospital tomorrow,” Wato said. “I want to take a proper look at your shoulder.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said, carefully looking anywhere but Wato.

“Just let me treat you,” Wato said. “Please.”

Sherlock closed her eyes. How did you even argue with that tone of voice?

Wato picked up the wet towel and went to hang it to dry. Sherlock took the opportunity to escape from the chair. But there was nowhere to escape to in the tiny room. In the end she sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed and gathered all the pillows to her arms. For some reason hugging things felt appealing at the moment.

“You still haven’t told me how your injuries happened,” Wato said. She sat down next to Sherlock. “Was it that Takamori guy who did this?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. She tilted her head. That was actually not right, was it?

“No,” she corrected. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?” Wato asked.

“This”—Sherlock held up her right hand—“was a victim of atrocious neglect of building maintenance.”

“What?”

“I cut it on a broken ladder.”

“Right,” Wato said. “And your shoulder?”

“That’s… mostly an old injury.”

“From that time?” Wato asked. “On the rooftop?”

Sherlock hugged her pillow collection.

“Yes.”

“What exactly happened then?,” Wato asked. “No, actually. I want you to tell me the whole story. Starting from the moment we found Mitsuki Kurata at the arcade.”

Sherlock did not really want to think back to those things. But it was evident that if she did not tell Wato herself, she would just go and somehow find out on her own. Sherlock turned and piled the pillows neatly on the bed to give herself time to think for a moment.

“That time, from Kurata’s accusation, I realized she was trying to frame me,” she said. “And I knew that in the time the useless police would sort that out, the virus would already be released. So I had to make a quick decision.”

“And then? What happened to Mitsuki Kurata?”

“I went to see her to ask why she’d framed me. She told me the virus had destroyed a village in Middle East. That this was retribution. She said she would die for the sake of justice.” Sherlock breathed out slowly. Thinking back to that moment was still unsettling. “She jumped. To make me a murderer and stop me from finding the virus.”

“But you found it anyway,” Wato said quietly. “And you stopped him.”

They had arrived at the worst part far too fast. The words strangled Sherlock’s throat.

“I didn’t want to…” Her hands were trembling. “He just wouldn’t…”

She squeezed her hands into fists. These were excuses. She was supposed to be telling Wato the facts. Instead she was trying to twist it into words that would make it seem less cruel. All this gentle care Wato was showering her with, she deserved none of it. Not after what she had done. How could she had forgotten?

Wato covered her hands with her own. For a moment Sherlock stared at Wato's hands blankly, then pulled hers away.

“Stop that!” she said. Her eyes felt like they were burning. How come Wato still did not understand? “This is all wrong! Don’t you understand I… I’m telling you I shot…”

Wato nodded. Her eyes were full of tears. She punched Sherlock’s arm, but so ineffectually Sherlock barely felt it.

“It’s all my fault,” Wato said. With her lips trembling, she wiped tears off of her cheeks. “You should be angry at me. I even brought him to our home.”

Slowly the detective brain pieced things together. It was not that Wato did not understand. Rather, she had already understood everything, including the details Sherlock had tried to shield her from. Where the evidence against Sherlock had come from. How Wato had been used and betrayed.

The thought pierced her like a needle. She pulled Wato to her arms like a small child.

“No.” She held Wato so tightly her shoulder ached. She ignored the pain. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“How can you say that?” Wato sobbed. “Without me—”

“It would all still have happened, one way or another.” She pressed her face into Wato’s hair. How could she possibly be angry at Wato? She was the most innocent one.

“It was because of you that I knew what I needed to do,” she said.

Wato’s breathing grew calmer. After a moment she freed herself from Sherlock’s embrace and looked her in the eyes. Sherlock turned away.

She had done the necessary thing. Moriya, and Moriwaki, they both had needed to be stopped. Still, a life was not that cheap. It should not be that cheap.

Wato seemed to be reading her thoughts. Now she, in turn, hugged Sherlock, resting her head on her shoulder.

“You had no choice,” she whispered.

And for the first time Sherlock felt like she could believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there are readers from various cultural and language backgrounds, I'll explain the chapter title:  
> "Pot calling kettle black" is an idiom for when someone accuses another of a fault they share ;)


	17. Rose

“Your coffee is done.”

Wato set the cup of coffee down on the table. For a moment she watched Sherlock, who was pacing back and forth between the table and the bed, seeming to not hear a word Wato said. Wato knew there was no use trying to get her attention. Sherlock in that mode was far too familiar to her. And yet, she could not help but feel a little disappointed.

The night before, after a lot of talking and crying, they had fallen asleep holding hands. She had never felt so close to Sherlock before, and now she felt like that closeness was already flowing out of her reach. After Wato had woken up with her fingers still intertwined with Sherlock’s, she had gotten up and prepared her own breakfast as quiet as possible to let Sherlock sleep. Sherlock, after finally waking up, had done nothing to acknowledge Wato, other than complain that her head hurt. Wato was not sure what she had expected. Perhaps just some small sign of affection.

Was she getting greedy? She was quite sure there weren’t many people in the world who had ever been allowed to see such a vulnerable and open side of Sherlock. She had told Wato her side of the story, where she had been and what she had been doing. And Wato had told Sherlock her own side, and everything else she had wanted to say.

She watched the steam rising slowly from the coffee cup. Well, _almost_ everything. Not the part where she’d figured out how she really felt about Sherlock.

“Can I use this?”

Wato looked up, startled. Sherlock was standing by the desk, holding Wato’s tablet.

“Sure, go ahead,” Wato replied. It wasn’t like there were any secrets left in her files Sherlock hadn’t already read through.

Wato went into the kitchen, and took out some apples from the fridge. In the middle of reaching for a knife, she stopped. _Hold on._ Since when had Sherlock asked for her permission to do something?

Frowning slightly, Wato picked up the knife and the apples, and returned to the table. Sherlock was seated at the table, tapping impatiently at the screen of the tablet with her fingernails.

“How did you know where Takamori works?” Sherlock asked. “You went to see him.”

She sipped at the coffee slowly.

“There was a note in the envelope he brought with the name of the store,” Wato said, starting to peel the apples. Sherlock seemed to be momentarily mesmerized by the coffee. Wato noticed her hide a hint of smile on her lips as she set the cup down.

“So they wanted you to go find him,” Sherlock said, seemingly refocusing herself. “But when you did, he turned you away.”

She furrowed her brows, running a finger along the side of the cup.

“That’s not the only odd thing,” she said. “When I went to see him, and those other guys showed up, he said I should run. I _thought_ he was threatening me, but it could have also been a warning. Then he pushed me into the storage room, but he didn’t lock the door.”

She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her temples against her fingertips.

“I thought the guy I heard outside the window told someone to come after you. But there’s actually no proof to support the assumption that he was talking about you.”

She ruffled her hair in frustration.

“This is why I say emotions get in the way of logic!”

Wato had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling too widely.

“Which emotions would those be?” she asked, cutting the apples into bite-size pieces.

Sherlock glared at Wato, but her eyes were more soft than anything.

“Irritation,” she said, “because you keep ending up in danger.”

“Or, what people generally call worrying because you care about someone,” Wato said. Given the possibly dangerous situation, it was perhaps foolish to only be happy about Sherlock’s concern, but she couldn’t help it. All the affection she had hoped to see was there, just in a very Sherlock kind of way. She took a piece apple and offered it to Sherlock.

“You know I don’t eaf—”

Wato pushed the apple into her mouth.

“Doctor’s orders,” she said. “These are all for you. And remember you promised to come to the hospital later.”

Sherlock ate the apple with a sigh. She picked up the tablet and started to type something.

“What do you know about Hoshino Pharmaceuticals?” she asked. “You have no connection to them?”

“No, what would I have to do with corporations like that? They’re everyone’s favorite gossip topic at the hospital, though,” Wato said. “After the old chairman died, the daughter now owns majority of the stock, but it’s her younger half-brother, I think his name is Hatsuo, who has more support from the board of directors. Apparently the two of them hate each other, and people hope they eat up the company from the inside with their fighting.”

“Sounds like they’re not popular.”

“Everyone knows the company is as corrupt as can be, but somehow nothing is ever done about that. I can only imagine what kind of friends in high places they have that they can do whatever they like without consequences.”

Wato stabbed a piece of apple peel with the knife. Corporations like that made her blood boil. Especially in the medical field, which should have been devoted to helping people instead of coldly using them to make money.

“About the only good they ever do is the amount of money they spend funding new research,” she continued. “Of course, they probably get more profit out of it in the end.”

“Funding research…” Sherlock said, typing on the tablet. “Mmm, they really do seem to be dedicated to…”

Sherlock went quiet, and stared at the screen, frowning.

“What is it?” Wato asked.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said. She switched the screen off, took her phone and wrote a message to someone. She set her phone down, and looked up to meet Wato’s disapproving stare. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’ll tell you if it turns out to be something.”

***

Wato glanced anxiously up and down the hospital corridor. She was not quite sure what she should be checking for, but she did so, regardless.

“You act like you’re committing some horrible crime,” Sherlock said. “Aren’t hospitals for the purpose of treating people?”

“Generally by following proper procedure,” Wato said. She had to admit she was over-reacting. Using an unreserved examination room for a few minutes was nothing compared to what she had done the night Sherlock had shown up. But perhaps that was exactly why she felt so uneasy. She had already broken so many rules. She looked at Sherlock, who was staring at the checkered floor of the hallway with an amused smile. Wato sighed. She knew that for Sherlock she would do all that again if she had to.

“Doctor Tachibana?”

Wato froze and turned around stiffly. Her counselor was standing on the hallway. The counselor glanced briefly at Sherlock who paid her no attention, and then turned to address Wato again.

“I was just about to call you,” she said. “We had an appointment scheduled for the afternoon, but due to an emergency I will have to re-schedule.”

“Ah! I see!” Wato said. She tried to not look too relieved. “That can’t be helped, right?”

“I will send a suggestion for a new time as soon as I can. But if you need anything before that, remember that you can call me any time.”

“Right, yes, thank you,” Wato said with a strained smile.

The counselor nodded, looking a bit hesitant, but turned and walked away, apparently considering her other duties more important than Wato’s obvious nervousness. Wato swiped her sweating palms to the sides of her coat. She would have to think of some explanation for her behavior before she met her next time.

Wato turned to Sherlock who was entertaining herself by rearranging pins on the notice board by color. She dragged Sherlock away by her sleeve.

“That’s my new counselor,” Wato said.

“I know,” Sherlock said. “She got her degree in Sapporo Gakuin University. Came to work here almost directly. Married three months ago. You probably have nothing to worry about, other than she’s likely to have no clue how to handle the things _you_ have been through.”

Wato stared at her in amazement. Surely nothing about Sherlock should surprise her anymore, but this was nonetheless unexpected.

“Did you by any chance find out her favorite flavor of tea, too?” she asked.

“No,” Sherlock said. She took out her phone. “Should I?”

“Forget it,” Wato said, laughing. “Let’s go check your shoulder.”

“Probably something mild without caffeine,” Sherlock said, as Wato prodded her along the corridor. “She was carrying a maternity pamphlet.”

***

Wato ran the ultrasound probe over Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock was making a valiant effort to stay still, though her eyes had something reminiscent of an animal that was waiting for the best opportunity to bolt. It had been a struggle to persuade her to unbutton her shirt enough that Wato could examine her shoulder.

“I will get a specialist I know to look at the results,” Wato said. “But I don’t think you need a surgery. Just rest.”

“I told you it’s fine,” Sherlock said.

“It’s _not_ fine,” Wato said. She wiped Sherlock’s shoulder clean, and straightened up her shirt. Sherlock lifted her hand to reach for the buttons, but Wato swatted her hand away and buttoned the shirt up for her. She was painfully aware of the intimacy of the moment, but she was definitely not going to have inappropriate thoughts about a patient, not even a distractingly attractive one she had inappropriately smuggled in.

“You’re hurt,” she said, trying to get her thoughts back to doctor mode. “You need to let yourself heal. Do you hear me? You’re not allowed to strain yourself, or put yourself in any kind of danger.”

Sherlock looked like she was going to argue, but then nodded meekly, chewing her lip.

Relieved that they had managed to finish the examination without incidents, Wato lead Sherlock out of the room.

As they were approaching the exit, a group of people walking along the corridor caught Wato’s attention. She nudged Sherlock.

“That’s him,” Wato said, “the Hoshino’s younger son.”

Sherlock turned her attention to the approaching people. She took a long, critical look at the tall, neatly dressed man in the middle, who was talking to the woman following him attentively. Casually Sherlock turned around, took the clipboard Wato had been carrying and threw it in the middle of the hallway, directly in front of him. Wato gave her a horrified look, but Sherlock was suddenly supremely interested in the CPR poster on the wall. Wato hurried to pick up her clipboard, apologizing profusely.

After the group had passed them, she turned to Sherlock.

“What was that about?” she hissed.

“He’s the guy I heard talking outside the window,” Sherlock said slowly, “but he definitely does not know you.”

“Maybe he was pretending not to know,” Wato said. Sherlock shook her head.

“Almost no one is that good at pretending when something unexpected happens. There wasn’t even a hint that you’re anything other than part of the hospital equipment to him.”

“How nice,” Wato said flatly.

“See if you can find out why he’s here, though.”

Wato nodded. She was not keen on having to probe about the business of people like him, but if it meant Sherlock would not go around doing anything reckless, it was surely worth it. Besides, it should not be hard to find out something about his visit. The nurses loved to gossip about men like him.

At the display of the hospital’s small flower shop, Wato stopped, with her eyes lingering on the bouquets of roses.

“Don’t you think some flowers would brighten up our tiny apartment a bit?” she said.

“Cut flowers die too fast,” Sherlock said. “What’s the point?”

Wato sighed perhaps too audibly. She turned to walk away from the display, but Sherlock stopped her, clinging to the sleeve of her coat.

“Therefore,” Sherlock said, “it would be better to get a potted plant.” She nodded towards the shelves further away.

Wato turned to look and her disappointment melted into a bright smile, as she saw the potted miniature roses. She walked over to the shelf and picked one with a tiny blooming red rose. The clerk wrapped the plant up, and Wato returned to Sherlock.

She pushed the wrapped up flower into Sherlock’s hands. It was a silly gesture, she knew that. Surely even Sherlock wouldn’t be able figure out what red roses meant to Wato. But it was an oddly comforting thing to do, regardless.

“Now take good care of it,” Wato said. “I’ll be home in a few hours.”


	18. Promises

Sherlock sat at the dining table, leaning her chin on her hands. She stared at the potted rose in front of her. It wasn’t really much of company. She had read the care instructions that had come with the flower in three different languages, but they had not offered anything new for her to do. She had watered the soil so that it had just the right amount of moisture. She was slightly concerned that the soil in the pot was not quite made up of components ideal for roses, but she figured if she dug the flower up to check, Wato would get upset.

She glanced at the clock. It would still be three hours and twenty seven minutes before Wato came home. She looked at her phone. There were no messages. She prodded the rose, and sighed. The rose didn’t need anything.

She picked up the keys of Takamori’s apartment from the table. She had forgotten they’d still been in the pocket of the bloodstained coat that had lain forgotten in the bathroom since that night. She flipped the keys around in her hand for a moment. She had promised Wato she would not do anything dangerous.

“I’m just going to go take a look,” she said to the rose. “Just a quick look. That’s not dangerous.”

She moved the rose to the small window in the kitchen where there was more daylight, and walked out, feeling slightly guilty.

***

Despite the daylight, Takamori’s apartment was dark. The curtain had been drawn over the door to the balcony. Even in the gloom Sherlock could see the papers and books scattered on the floor. Someone had searched through the place.

She flipped the lights on. _No,_ she corrected herself. The disarray was not the result of someone searching for something, but someone throwing aside things that were not important. Takamori had gathered his belongings in a hurry. Running from who? From her? Those other people who had arrived? Or someone who had nothing to do with Wato or Sherlock? She shook her head. She had already been making too many assumptions. Concern for Wato kept messing up her brain.

After a quick look through the apartment that confirmed she was unlikely to find anything helpful in there, Sherlock walked around the building to the janitor’s door.

She kept knocking persistently, until the door opened slightly, and a grumpy face peeked through.

“When did you last see the tenant of apartment 11?” Sherlock asked.

“Why?”

“I have a package delivery he hasn’t come pick up.”

“Two days ago maybe, I don't care about your package.”

The door slammed shut. Sherlock did not bother the man further. Judging from the smell that had drifted out through the door, it was unlikely he had been sober enough for days to have noticed anything useful.

She glanced briefly at the other apartment doors. Someone else might have seen something. But she had already pushed the edges of her no danger promise quite far enough. She turned around and walked back home. She could always come back later if that turned out to be necessary.

***

Sherlock picked apart the sushi assortment Wato had brought home with her chopsticks. It was only barely decent sushi, but she had enough sense to not complain about something Wato had gone out of her way to buy for her.

Sherlock missed the food of her favorite restaurants back in Tokyo, though not so much she wanted to leave when Wato was here. She looked at the potted rose that had been returned to the table to keep her company while Wato was sorting through the laundry. She hadn’t really thought about what she would do _after_. After the situation had been sorted, after Wato was certainly safe, then what? Was she going to leave Wato here and return to Tokyo on her own? Wato had settled down here with her family and job. She probably would not want to leave again.

Though perhaps this town wasn’t so bad. Could she persuade Mrs. Hatano to move here, too? And her brother? And the Inspector, and Shibata? That was perhaps too much of a stretch. But Sherlock preferred everything that was hers to be close by.

“You too,” she said and poked at the rose. “Who are you going to stay with?”

“Did you say something?” Wato called from the bathroom.

Sherlock did not reply. Wato walked out of the bathroom holding up Sherlock’s bloodstained coat.

“I should have washed this right away,” she said. “I wonder if dry-cleaning could still save it.”

She tilted her head, and then shook it vigorously.

“No, what would they think if I take them a coat in this state? They’ll probably call the police.”

“Is blood automatically a crime?” Sherlock asked, amused. “People get into accidents.”

“But couldn’t someone get your DNA from this, or something?”

“Why would anyone search through dry-cleaners around Japan for clothes with my DNA?”

Wato gave her a sullen glance, and lowered the coat. Sherlock could not help but think Wato was awfully adorable when she was like that.

“That’s good thinking, though,” Sherlock said. “Those are the kind of questions you should be asking _when_ there’s actual reason for that.”

Wato seemed to gain new strength from the praise.

“I’m just going to try to wash this myself.”

“Just throw it away,” Sherlock said.

“But you like this coat,” Wato said, hugging the coat to her chest. Somehow it seemed Wato liked the coat more than Sherlock did. Why did she have such a puzzling affinity with Sherlock’s coats?

A message alert on her phone interrupted Sherlock’s thoughts. As expected, it was a reply from Kento about what she had asked him to look up in the morning. A chill spread through Sherlock as she read the message.

_There is no such person. Not even a trace._

She looked at Wato who was looking at her with keen expectation. She had promised to tell her. She really needed to stop making so many promises.

She got up from her chair and walked to Wato, handing her the phone.

“There is no such person,” Wato read. “So, it’s a dead end?”

“No, it’s the opposite,” Sherlock said. She fetched Wato’s tablet and pulled up the files she had been looking at in the morning. “It’s a confirmation that for the past six years Hoshino Pharmaceuticals has been funding the research of a person who does not exist.”

Wato stared at Sherlock with her face full of puzzlement. Sherlock handed the tablet to Wato.

“A nonexistent person who suffered from a horrible lack of creativity with aliases,” she said.

Wato took the tablet from Sherlock’s hands.

“Moriki Arikawa,” she read. Sherlock could see Wato’s shoulders grow stiff. “Is that Akira Moriwaki?”

Sherlock nodded.

"Can you be sure?" Wato asked, looking uneasy. "Maybe the name just happens to be similar."

"It's not just the name," Sherlock said. "Back when my brother tried to track Moriwaki, the result was the same. No trace. It takes a lot for someone's identity to just vanish. That he couldn't find anything in itself says a lot. It's too much of a coincidence."

“So they funded… that woman, but what does that mean?” Wato asked.

That was the question. What did it mean? Moriwaki was definitely gone, but exactly what had she left behind? An awful lot of the Hoshinos’ money had been poured into The Dock. The best case scenario was that they’d had no idea what their money was really going into. And the worst case scenario, that Moriwaki’s work had had their full support. People with a lot of money, and friends in high places, supporting brainwashing people into killers. Sherlock shivered.

“The Hoshinos have spent a lot of money on something that is now very much compromised,” she said out loud. “What would be their first priority? Protect their investment? Protect themselves?”

She glanced at Wato, who was looking at Sherlock like she was expecting her to already have the answers.

“And why you?” Sherlock said. “What purpose is there to specifically approach you? If they wanted to just en masse eliminate all remaining traces of The Dock there would be many ways to get rid of you without needing to lure you in so elaborately.”

“You say that so lightly,” Wato said. Sherlock, who realized she had been digging her nails into her palms, relaxed her hands.

She walked to Wato’s side and placed her hand on the top of Wato’s head, feeling a strong urge to physically remind herself that right now Wato was here, safe with her. She needed to keep her head cool and stay focused. She couldn’t keep weighing the possibilities according to how badly they affected Wato. In terms of the facts of the case, that was irrelevant.

Keeping her hand on Wato’s head, she walked around her.

“Hey,” Wato said. “I’m a person, not furniture.”

What was special about Wato? Sherlock was momentarily distracted by the gentle eyes watching her intently. _Objectively_ , what was special about Wato? She was a doctor. She had been to Syria. She had lived with Sherlock, but given how Sherlock was as dead to the world as Moriwaki was, that connection hardly seemed relevant. Wato had been at The Dock, but only for a few days. Nothing in particular struck Sherlock as something the financiers of The Dock would specifically want.

She slid her hand along Wato’s hair, down to her shoulder.

Unless they sought to continue Moriwaki’s work. Perhaps they thought Wato made a good candidate. The idea made her stomach turn.

Her hand drifted from Wato’s shoulder to the side of her neck and softly along her cheek. Wato blinked.

“Sherlock?” she said hoarsely.

Sherlock was too distracted to listen. She was still making only assumptions. The dots were not connecting. The Hoshino’s funding, the daughter handing out information to Wato while the son seemed to not know her, Takamori’s mysterious behavior, none of it fit together in any meaningful way.

Sherlock broke away from Wato.

“I need to know more!”

She threw herself on her back on the bed in frustration. She had, of course, searched through all information that was easy to obtain about the Hoshino heirs, but none of it revealed much. Given their status, even all that was just the carefully selected bits of truth.

“I need… something that gives me an idea of what is going on in their heads. Now even Takamori has vanished.”

“Vanished?” Wato was leaning on a chair for support.

“I went to check his apartment,” Sherlock said. “He seems to have gone somewhere in a hurry.”

“I asked you to not do anything dangerous!”

“I just went in, looked around and walked out. That’s not dangerous.”

“Sherlock!”

“Not now,” Sherlock said impatiently, “I’m trying to think!”

Wato turned and walked away. The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut echoed through the room. Sherlock closed her eyes.

She could perhaps ask Kento to probe more about the Hoshinos, but now that the connection to The Dock was clear, it could be risky. He had been purposefully excluded from the case, and asking him push his luck too much could lead to him losing his job.

Sherlock tried to think of other options, but time and again she found her attention drifting to the closed bathroom door. She knew she shouldn’t have snapped at Wato, even if, as usual, she realized it far too late. Ironically, that had been a moment she really could have used Wato to give her a nudge and softly tell her she was crossing the line. With a frustrated groan she pulled a pillow over her face.

Wato was in the shower a painfully long time, and after she came out of the bathroom, she set her alarm for the morning, switched off the lights, and curled up on the edge of the bed with her back to Sherlock.

For a while Sherlock waited for Wato to say something, but as that seemed to not be happening, she started to despair.

She turned to her side, facing towards Wato’s back, and inched closer. She tugged at Wato’s pillow, but Wato still did not react. Sherlock pouted at Wato’s back and pulled the pillow from under her head, but Wato merely corrected the position of her head on the mattress and continued to ignore Sherlock. It seemed she was determined to be stubborn to the end.

“I’m… sorry!” Sherlock said gruffly, throwing the pillow she had stolen back at Wato.

Wato sat up.

“If you have the sense to apologize, can you not do it so aggressively?”

She snatched her pillow back, and lay down again, still facing away from Sherlock.

Sherlock inched closer again, and tugged at the shoulder of Wato’s nightdress.

Wato sighed.

“I’m just worried,” she said. “It was awful enough to lose you once.”

Sherlock pressed her forehead against Wato’s shoulder.

_That’s what I want to say._

***

Sherlock lay awake, listening to the rain drumming against the window. It was three in the morning, and Wato was fast asleep, tightly holding onto Sherlock’s arm.

Sherlock was quite sure that according to socially acceptable behavior, which she herself admittedly rarely paid heed to, continuously sleeping this close together was something you didn’t just do without first establishing some previous agreement about it.

And yet, this kept happening so naturally. Like they had half-accidentally fallen past some limit beyond which there were no rules. Anything was possible.

Sherlock winced. Her thoughts were starting to sound like Wato’s writing. It was probably the result of Wato’s distracting scent mixed with her own sleepiness.

Wato stirred. Her grip around Sherlock’s arm tightened, followed by a muffled sob.

“Don’t go.”

“Shh,” Sherlock said softly. “It’s just a dream.”

Wato relaxed. Breathing out slowly she turned towards Sherlock, cuddling close to her chest. Sherlock felt her pulse quicken. Rules or no, this was going too far. It wasn’t that it felt unpleasant, but she certainly would not be able to sleep with the warmth of Wato’s body against hers like that. She tried to gently push Wato further away, but this only resulted in Wato wrapping her arms around Sherlock’s neck, and pulling her even closer.

“Wa-Wato?” Sherlock stammered. “Can you… let go?”

Wato’s eyes flickered open, though she did not seem to be quite awake. She closed her eyes again, but pulled her arms away from Sherlock’s neck. For a moment her hand rested on Sherlock’s cheek, and she turned her head slightly, kissing Sherlock lightly on the lips. Then she nuzzled her face against Sherlock’s shoulder, and within seconds seemed to be fast asleep again. Sherlock relaxed back down on the bed, listening to Wato’s breathing half-astonished, half-amused.

Anything was possible.


	19. Meetings

Wato watched the stripes of rain flow down the teashop window, blurring the view outside. Time and time again, without thinking, she brushed her lips with the tips of her fingers.

That kiss been a dream. Surely.

Part of it had been a nightmare she had seen countless times already: Sherlock standing on the edge of the rooftop while Wato tried in vain to reach her. But this time, Sherlock had heard Wato calling for her and had turned back. And Wato had kissed the dream Sherlock.

Only, it had felt oddly real.

But surely it had been just a dream. Definitely. It had to be. There was no other explanation. If she had actually done that, Sherlock would without a doubt have kicked Wato out of the bed. Or at least made some scathing remark about it in the morning. But she had been just her usual self. Sipping coffee, reading something. Probably not even listening what Wato said.

Wato sighed. She needed to learn to control her unruly thoughts, or she would end up getting herself in trouble. Sherlock was the problem. She was constantly doing things that to other people seemed like flirting, but to Sherlock was just being Sherlock. It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault, of course. That was just how she was. It was Wato whose feelings had turned into a confusing mess after she had met her.

Sherlock stepped into the teashop, shaking rain off her hair. For a moment Wato stared at the sight transfixed, then biting her lip, turned her eyes back to the window. How was she going to greet Sherlock casually when her pulse was getting ridiculously fast? They lived together, for crying out loud, but here she was feeling like a school girl on her first date…

“Why did you ask me come here?” Sherlock asked, walking over to her table. She sat down on the chair next to Wato, and started to read through the teashop menu.

Wato sipped her tea to give herself time to calm down before replying. She cleared her throat.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” she said.

“Who? Why?” Sherlock frowned at the menu. “Is this all they sell?”

The waitress cleaning a table nearby looked up. Wato took the menu away from Sherlock.

“Don’t be rude,” she hissed.

Sherlock stole Wato’s teacup and sipped from it. Seeming content it tasted fine, she set it down on the table, cradling it in her hands.

Wato made no effort to get her tea back. Perhaps her subconscious had intentionally chosen a flavor Sherlock would like, she mused. Sharing things with Sherlock had already become second nature to her. And she did not mind it one bit.

“Aren’t you going to answer my question?” Sherlock asked.

“What?”

“Who are we meeting?”

“Oh! Right.” Wato arranged the napkins on the table nervously. She reminded herself to stay focused, and stop drifting into dreams.

“The journalist friend I’ve told you about,” she said. “Ah, there he is.”

Arata waved at Wato from the doorway. He set his wet umbrella down by the door, and enthusiastically rushed towards their table. He stopped in front of Sherlock, catching his breath.

“You must be the detective I’ve heard so much about,” Arata said. With a polite bow, he handed her his business card. Sherlock took the card and looked at it critically.

“The Strand?” she said, smirking. “I know this magazine. You really like to stretch the truth.”

Wato kicked Sherlock’s foot under the table, but Arata seemed unbothered by the slight. Sherlock coughed.

“Your cross-figure puzzles are pretty good sometimes, though,” she said. “Like the one in last December.”

“Really?” Arata sat down across the table from Sherlock, watching her with keen interest. “We got many letters from readers claiming it was impossible.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“Ultimately there were only twelve possible variations for—”

“Anyway,” Wato said, pointedly interrupting Sherlock. “Could we get to the topic at hand? I have to go back to work soon.”

“Right,” Arata said. “I am on the way for an interview, too.”

With seeming reluctance he tore his eyes away from Sherlock and started to rummage through his bag.

“Here,” Arata handed a USB stick to Sherlock, who took it, eying it suspiciously.

“I collected everything of interest about the Hoshinos. Behind-the-doors information. Things no one wants to publish, unless they have a death-wish.” He beamed at Sherlock. “Ah, don’t worry. No matter what stretching of truth our magazine does, the source material is all facts.”

Sherlock’s suspicious glare faded, slowly turning into a look of delight. Wato felt a pang of irrational jealousy. This had been her idea, but bringing that up now seemed too brazen. Besides, Arata had of course done all the actual work.

“I found out from the nurses that the Hoshino’s son’s visit to the hospital yesterday was to meet with some prosecutor who had gone through a surgery,” Wato said, finally remembering there was something she could contribute.

“A prosecutor?” Sherlock said.

“No doubt buttering him up to make sure they keep ignoring their crimes,” Arata said.

“Hmm,” Sherlock said.

“You don’t think so?” Arata asked. Sherlock did not reply. Arata seemed keen to continue the conversation, but his phone chimed, and with a sigh he got up.

“Looks like I have to run again. Do let me know if there’s anything else I can help with!”

Wato watched him walk out. She needed to come up with some way to properly thank him, but that could wait for later.

Sherlock turned the USB stick around in her hands.

“That should keep you occupied for a while,” Wato said. “So you don’t have to go and run into danger again.”

“Hold on,” Sherlock said. She leaned back in her chair and turned to scowl at Wato. “You’re still lecturing me about danger? I told you to not get involved with this matter anymore, yet here we are!”

“I’ve just been talking to an old friend,” Wato said. Upset that she was being scolded, she tried to snatch her teacup back. Sherlock moved the cup out of her reach.

“And I just went to look at an empty apartment!” she said.

Wato pulled her hands back to her lap. For a moment they both sulked in silence.

“I don’t think either of us is going to give up until this has been sorted out, you know,” Wato said eventually.

Sherlock replied with a resigned sigh.

“Why do you think Hoshino was meeting the prosecutor at the hospital?” Wato asked. Sherlock shrugged.

“It’s a bit too public place to be scheming with the law enforcement,” Sherlock said. “No matter how bold you are, these things are done more privately. It’s almost as if he _wanted_ his visit to be known.”

Wato nodded, though she did not really understand. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost time for her to return to work. Reluctantly she gathered her coat.

“I have to go,” she said. “Let’s talk more at home.”

“You did well,” Sherlock said.

Wato stopped in the middle of getting up from her chair.

“What?”

“This,” Sherlock said, holding the USB up. “Good work.”

Almost unable to believe her own ears, Wato stared at Sherlock.

“Did you just praise me?”

Sherlock glanced at her, looking like she considered taking her words back.

“I know,” Wato said quickly. “Don’t ask stupid questions.” She couldn’t stop a wide smile spreading on her face.

Sherlock crossed her arms and turned her eyes away, seeming uncomfortable.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” she said.

***

By the end of her working shift Wato still had not stopped being giddy about Sherlock’s praise.

On the way home she sat down on a bench by the street for a while, pressing her hands to her cheeks. She needed to calm down before going home. If she acted too happy, she would probably just annoy Sherlock. She wanted this evening to be quiet and peaceful for a change. They’d get something delicious to eat and talk about the case, and go to sleep. And Wato would hopefully not have such wild dreams this time.

She sighed deeply.

“Why am I like this?” she asked the night sky, but the sky did not offer any insight.

A message alert of her phone startled her. She took her phone out of her pocket.

Sherlock’s message only read:

_Help._

Wato’s heart jumped to her throat. What was wrong? Had Sherlock gotten herself in some danger again? She leapt up from the bench and started to half run towards home, with shaking hands trying to dial the phone to call Sherlock.

Before she managed to make the call, a new message arrived.

_Your mom._

Wato slowed down, frowning at the phone. What did this mean? Had something happened to her mother? But shy would Sherlock be the one to tell her about it?

While she pondered the odd messages, a third one arrived.

_She’s here._

Wato stopped, hanging her head. That was all? She had nearly had an heart attack for no reason.

She stood still, catching her breath for a moment, while the meaning of the messages slowly sunk in.

Her mother was in her apartment. With Sherlock.

She snapped her head up.

_“Oh my god.”_


End file.
